


Hawke Rising

by Pandigital



Series: Hawke Rising [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magister Hawke, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Sex, slave!Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandigital/pseuds/Pandigital
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Hawke never talked about where he came from before marrying Leandra. When his cousin shows up with bad news, his whole family soon learns why he never did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Farmer's Daughter

Fenris had never seen snow before. The Tevinter Imperium had often experience temporal rains on the coasts, and monsoons on Seheron, or so Danarius said, but never snow. Snow was something that the barbaric south and uncultured Qunair had to deal with. Fenris had dreamed about snow, when Hadriana let him sleep. White and cold and burning at the same time. He doesn’t know why but sometimes when he thinks of snow, he hears a man's voice, sick and fraile speaking about it. The cold kills you boy. It wraps you in a warm embrace and you drift off to sleep and never wake up. Fenris has felt the icy sting of a magic ice whip from Danarius.

Fereldan wasn’t in deep winter yet. The farmers were still cleaning their fields so winter wasn’t set in yet, or so the man that they had asked for directions had said when Hadriana had complained of the cold. Fenris kept his head down and ears covered. Slaves were not allowed in the south. The village of Lothering was a few hours down the road and they might know if someone by the name of Malcolm Hawke was in fact there. As they rode, Fenris walked, down the road, Hadriana complained. Loudly.

“This cold is hardly befitting a _Magister_ , master. Why in all of Thedas would he be _**here**_?”

“We have spoken about this, Hadriana.”

“No. You have told me that by order of The Powerful and Wonderful Archon, you were to bring back his cousin, Malcolm Hawke alive and unharmed.”

“He is also my cousin, Hadriana.”

“How so, master?”

“Malcolm Hawke is the oldest and only son to Nicodemus Hawke. His wife, Athena Marcador, was one of a set of triplets. Her two brothers, were each a powerful magisters in his own right. My own father, Hector, was a powerful mage. My uncle, Quentin, was the father of our Archon. I knew Malcolm briefly before he ran off.”

“Why would he run off?”

“Some nonsense about slave rights and stricter rules about blood magic.”

“A odd duck.”

“Indeed.”

Fenris didn’t think so. As they rounded a small bend in the road, the sounds of children playing reached his ears. As the trees cleared, he saw a group of children no older than ten throwing snow at each other from behind thick mounds of snow beyond the rickety fences along the road. Fenris was forced to slow and Danarius and Hadriana watched from atop their horses. As Fenris looked closer he saw that two children with thick black hair were throwing more snowballs than the others. Then he narrowed his eyes and he saw why. The little dark haired and dark skinned girl was blowing into her hands and perfect snowballs were formed and handed to her male copy as he flung the balls at the other children.

“How disgusting,” Hadriana sneered, “that a mage that young and talented is forced to hide here in the south. In Minrathous she would be presented to many magisters to form a master/student contract.”

“She looks like Malcolm.”

As Fenris turned his head slightly he saw an older girl, about his age, seventeen or so, coming down the road carrying two blankets. She wore a red cloak. As she picked little lint balls off of the blankets she looked up and stopped as she saw them. Fenris turned to his master. He was looking at the girl in red. The tan skin and black hair. Gold eyes.

The girl only nodded her head and gave them a small smile before hopping over the fence in thick, mud caked farmers boots and pants and walked over to the children and their snowball war.

“Halt!” said the twin to the mage girl, “This is a war zone farmer. Why do you enter into our war?”

The girl held up the blankets, “Mom wants you and Bethany home now. Dinner's almost ready. You can play war tomorrow.”

Food seemed to end the small war as the others ran home and the older girl wrapped the twins in blankets. She helped them over the fence and Danarius rode up to them. The older girl pushed the younger two behind her, and gripped the dagger at her hip. Hadriana stopped next to Danarius and Fenris hovered near them. The girl glared at all of them. She kept a cold and collected face. But her eyes burned like ice.

“Excuse me, miss. We are looking for Malcolm Hawke.”

The twins, who were peeking around their sisters cloak, shot each other a look and then inched further behind her, only their eyes glaring out at them. Three sets of golden ice. The girl clutched her dagger tighter. She looked at each of them in turn and then spoke.

“I should care because?”

“I am willing to pay for information in regards to my cousin. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“Can’t help you. I’m just a farmer's daughter. I don’t anything about anything that would interest a mage from a _Tevinter_.”

“And yet, you call one sister.”

“ _She’s not a mage._ She’s a kid. And we need to go home. Good evening, **SIR**.”

With that they walk off at a brisk pace, all but jogging away from them. His master watches them until the red cape flicks out over the next bend toward Lothering. Hariana clicks her tongue against her teeth. They suspect that the girl is a mage but they do not know. But he does, he can feel the magic that flows through a mage like lightning across the sky can cause hair to stand up. The little one is a mage, they all saw it, and her twin and most likely her whole family knows it. The one in the red hood is as well.

He could feel her magic shimmering far, far below in her. Hiding. Like silver fish under murky water. When they enter Lothering, the sun is well and truly set. They sleep in an inn and Fenris entertains his master. He limps slightly when they set out once more at dawn. They ask the woman who cooks in the inn if a man named Malcolm Hawke lives here.

She is Fereldan, they are from Tevinter. She eyes them and asks why they want to know. It is more of an admission that this women seems to know. His master tells her that distant family is looking for him and they are good friends. She is given ten gold coins and she smiles at them. The Hawke family live on a small farm a few miles outside of town. Three children.

Two girls and a boy with black, black hair and gold eyes.

When he collects the horses he spots the twins with a brown haired woman, older, most likely their mother, speaking with a man over meats and their prices. The elder girl is not with them nor is Malcolm Hawke. He doesn’t tell his master. When they arrive at the farm his feet are frozen and they hurt but he knows better than to complain. The girl in red is outside cutting wood into sizable logs while an older man with long black hair peppered with grey, mends a fence a little ways away from her. Hadriana scoffs at the sight.

“Mages should have _slaves_ to do their labor for them. They should be back in the Imperium, sitting in the Ministry, their rightful place!”

Danarius only inclines his head and gets down from his horse. As he opens the gate, the older man, Malcolm Hawke, turns and flings a small hatchet from his hip at Danarius. Danarius flinches away, taking his hand off the gate and the hatchet sinks in where his hand once rested. The older girl watches, axe held tightly in her hand. Malcolm moves with sure and even steps, taking the axe from his daughter and stands in front of his master. The gate separates them. Danarius is old in the face, shagging in the cheeks and under his eyes.

Malcolm is, according to Danarius, three years his younger. But the tan skinned man with broad shoulder and an impressive beard streaked with grey, looks at least ten years younger. Golden eyes glare out from under a heavy brow. Only the wind dances between them. A pair of ravens in a dead tree somewhere squawk and flutter at each other. Danarius smirks and Malcolm scowls at him. Danarius spreads his arms open as though he means to embrace the man on the other side of the gate that looks ready to kill them all.

“Cousin.”

“ _Leave_.” Malcolm snaps and jerks the axe back from the way that they have come.

Danarius sighs as though Malcolm has told him that they do not have his favorite tea in the house behind him than to leave. Fenris looks to the girl. She is still hiding her magic like the man in front of him. He is used to mages flaunting their magic, letting it settle over his skin and piercing his bones. These mages are different. The lyrium feels the pull of the magic inside of them but it doesn’t hurt. It is like a patch of wet skin on a warm day.

Not entirely unpleasant.

“You know I can’t do that, cousin. The Archon himself told me to come a get you. To bring you home.”

“I am home. You need to leave before I **MAKE** you leave.”

Hadriana gives him a smile from atop her horse, “Come no, serah. You can not honestly tell me that with a mage child in your home you feel at peace in this land? These southern brutes would gladly make her Tranquil is they ever found out. Or worse.”

Malcolm turned a glare to her and she flinched back, “Do not speak of my daughters, wretched whore. Leave, least I send for the Templars to escort you from my home.”

“Nicodemus,” Danarius says, causing Malcolm to turn his glare to him, “is ill of health as of late. Your mother is dead, and he is well on his way. It was him who begged our cousin and Archon to send word to you. If you will not come home for your birthright, then at least come home to send him off as is our custom.”

Malcolm grits his teeth so hard his jaw is tense, Fenris can hear the teeth grinding against each other even from the other side of the fence. Fenris sees movement from the back of the house and turns to look. A Mabari comes stalking toward them and stops between the girl and Malcolm. It bares it teeth and lets out a long but low growl. The girl moves and grabs the collar, holding it tight but glaring just as much. As Malcolm opens his mouth a softer voice sings out behind them all.

“Malcolm?”

They all turn and the woman from the market, the one that had been talking to the twins, is standing before them. The twins cling to her skirt that is crusted with snow. She holds a basket full of bread and wrapped meat. Fenris can see a few fruits as well. Her scarf is wrapped around her head to cover her ears and her soft eyes glance from Malcolm to Danarius, to Hadriana. The twins glare out but they look more timid hanging onto the skirts of who Fenris thinks is their mother. He could be wrong though.

Malcolm opens the gate and moves to the woman. The gate is left ajar. He speaks in low tones to her and hands the basket to the twins with a head tilt to the older girl inside their yard. She opens the gate and they scamper inside. She shuts it behind them and waits. Malcolm and the woman move a little bit away and speak in low tones. The woman only nods her head a few times and then tells him something.

He shakes his head. She crosses her arms and tells him something else. He pinches the bridge of his nose and throws up his hands. He walks with her and she smiles at them.

“Hello,” she says, “My name is Leandra Hawke. Come in and let us discuss this like civilized people. Hawke,” she turns to the girl in the red cloak, “take the horse and the dog to the barn.”

“The dog stays.” Malcolm says and opens the gate for his wife. She sighs and moves to the house, ushering the twins in. The horses are next and before the girl, Hawke, can reach the reins, Danarius speaks.

“Let Fenris do it. We have much to discuss and little time to do it in.”

“No.” Malcolm snaps.

Hawke takes the reins, “I’ll be fine.”

“Fenris knows how to take care of the horse's.” Hadriana says.

Hawke looks to Malcolm who glares and them but says, “Fine.”

Fenris follows behind Hawke and the Mabari goes with Malcolm. She doesn’t speak. As the barn door is pushed open he holds it for her as she leads the horses in. She helps him take their gear off in silence. As they brush them down she finally asks, “Are you a slave?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Hawke. My name is Hawke. You can call me that, or by first name, if you want. I don’t like it though. Mom and father picked it out. We don’t have slaves in the south. Here, you would be free.”

Fenris only ducks his head, “This slave is content in his role. But thank you for showing me kindness.”

She frowns at him but drops the subject. As they enter the house, the twins sit on the floor, playing a game with a small rubber ball and colored sticks. The girl is winning and the boy is using the dog as a backrest, petting his head as he glares at his sister. Hawke takes off her cloak and puts it up. She holds out her hand for his and he gives it to her. She puts it up and leads him to the small room at the back of the house. The simple door is opened and shut quickly. The room is thick with unsaid words and spoken arguments. Leandra sits near the fire with Hadriana, drinking tea and watching as the two men go back and forth in Tevene. Hadriana understand as does he. The girl frowns and hovers near her mother. Finally it seems, Malcome can take no more.

“ **MY DAUGHTERS ARE NOT GOING TO THAT CITY OF FILTH. NONE OF MY FAMILY ARE!** ” his voice is loud and filled with magic. The flames in the fireplace spits and hiss as they rise and roar out of the fireplace. Hawke throws up a barrier to protect them. Malcolm turns with a horror stricken look and the flames die down. Leandra glares at her husband and slaps down her teacup with ladylike anger.

Fenris has felt power before. But these Hawkes, they are more powerful than even his master.

“Malcolm,” she says with a tight smile, “we will need to think about this. Our children are in danger. Hawke and Bethany more so than Carver. While I agree that Tevinter is not...an _ideal_ place to take them or to have them see, they have a right to meet their grandfather before he dies. They will never meet my mother or father, and Gamlen doesn’t answer my letters. Please dear, at least think on this for a few days.”

“We can spare a few days.” Danarius says with a smile. Malcolm lets out a heavy sigh but nods his head. Leandra stands up and dusts off her skirt.

“Then we can start on dinner then. Come on Hawke.”

They leave the room with soft footsteps. Once their voices are far away Malcolm takes the seat that his wife left and rubs his temples, elbows on his knees and head bowed. Hadriana sips at her tea. Danarius looks down at her from the tip of his noble nose.

“Hadriana. Go and help our hostess. _Now_.”

“But-” she says with a shocked looked on her pale face. Danarius glares and she huffs like a spoiled child before leaving. She closes the door with a loud groan coming from the hinges as it shuts. Danarius takes her seat and crosses his legs. Fenris stays by the door and in the shadows. The fire is dim. Danarius flicks his wrist and the flames are once more cheerful. Malcolm finally looks up, watching the fire.

He looks tired, his eyes no longer glaring. A man who does not how to win this fight. He finally speaks, “How ill?”

“Black blood from his mouth and eyes. They think it might be cholera.”

“And mother?”

“A blood ritual gone wrong.”

“What was she trying to do?”

“Put her skin back to its youth state.”

Malcolm shakes his head and then looks at Danarius. He rubs his neck as he speaks, “Why now? I left so long ago and sold my birthright. I cut all ties with that man.”

“He still kept ties with you. When he dies you still get everything.”

“And Bernadette will get everything when I die, if I take my family back to my homeland.”

Danarius chuckles, “ _Bernadette_? The slave you had a soft spot for?”

“She was a good women. She helped me escape.”

“And you helped her escape. I do hope she enjoyed her year of freedom.”

Malcolm bows his head, “What happened to her?”

“Resold. Your father was not pleased with your.... _elvhen_ helper.”

“She was a good women. She deserved her freedom.”

“She was old. She raised you, and you in turn freed her illegally from your father. Who never pressed charges for what you did. Selling your birthright, freeing a slave without his consent, entering yourself into a _**SOUTHERN**_ circle of magi. HA! Nicodemus should have died of embarrassment long before now because of you.”

Malcolm leans back in his chair closing his tired eyes, “Leandra doesn’t understand what is there. Bethany, young as she is, might thrive there but Berni...Maker, my Berni is too soft in her heart and soul. She would wither and die.”

“And your son?”

“He is my son. I am always proud of him. No matter what he does, I will still love him and be proud of him. Of all my children. Love has always been freely given to them, and harsh words but never a hand raised to them. Not like how _he_ raised me.”

“Is that why you don’t want to go back?”

Malcolm gives a mirthless chuckle, “Honestly, I want to go back so much. When Leandra and I first left her home in Kirkwall, I wanted to go back. I knew that the baby, Berni, was going to be a mage. I knew it like how I knew the sky is blue. But she wanted a normal life. So we came here. And I realized that if the Templar here found out about our daughters, they would kill them. They wouldn’t do well in a circle, and in the end, if they didn’t kill them with a sword, they would kill them with a brand.”

“Tranquil. Better to kill them.”

“I want to go home. But I don’t want my children to end up like you.”

Danarius raised an eyebrow, “Like me?”

Malcolm looked right at Fenris, “Look at him, Danarius. He is a broken man. You killed him and the person he could have been. I don’t want my girls to see that, the slaves, the blood magic, the backstabbing. All of it. Because they will either accept it, or they will die.”

“But you know that they will thrive.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because,” Danarius says with a wicked smile, “they are the daughters of the great Malcolm Hawke, first son of the last dragon. High Priest Nicodemus of the cult of Dragons, was your father. They will not only thrive, they will rule.”

“Rule what?”

“The Imperium. Imagine it, Malcolm. _Archon Bernadette Hawke_.”

Malcolm only shakes his head and leaves the room. At dinner he doesn’t say much. Danarius and Hadriana are given childrens room. The Hawke children and him sleep in the living room in front of the fireplace. The Mabari sleeps half on top of the boy, Carver. They have given him the couch and he feels ashamed. He should be on the floor. The little girl sits up a few hours before dawn and looks around, then down at her sister.

She lies back down, head on her sister's back and one hand tangled in thick black hair. Berni sleeps on her stomach with a pillow half over her head. Malcolm comes down the stairs and looks at his children for a long, long time. He goes back up the stairs and announces at lunch that they will be moving back to his home. By the end of the week, they are on the road and the twins are in a foul mood. The oldest girl, Berni, walks in step with him and lets them vent to her. She only nods her head and makes funny little snips at them.

It send the little girl into giggle fits and the boy in a fit of scowls. It is nice. Hadriana tries to befriend Berni but it is like talking to a brick wall. Berni doesn’t answer many questions and only in short answers. Her voice is always soft and her head is always down. She wears her heart on her sleeve too often. On third day of their slow march Hadriana strikes a chord that sends Hawke into red faced anger from being embarrassed.

“Are you leaving anyone special behind here? A _boy_? Or even more scandalous, **_a girl_**?”

Hawke looks at Hadriana like she is insane, which Hadriana is, but Hawke doesn’t know that, not yet anyway, “You mean friends? No. I liked reading and being left alone. But there was one boy, the baker's son, Harold. We were good friends, we liked to talk about the books we had read.”

Hadriana gives her coy smile, “Oh? I bet that those strong baker hands made up for the more... _boring_ material you two read.”

“What?”

“You know, sex.”

Hawke flinches back and ducks her head, shaking it in negative, “No. No. He...we never...no. _**No!**_ We were just friends. He liked boys not girls.”

Hadriana gives a snort, “Then you lost nothing. Besides, a slave is just as good if not better. Easier as well. They do all the work and you get the benefits. Like Fenris. He is very good with his mouth, my dear. You might ask Danarius for a sample. I’m sure he might say yes to such an innocent request. I mean, a virgin at _your_ age? It would be unheard in Minrathous!”

Hawke turns to glare at her, face red and hands clenched at her sides, “Fenris is a person! You can’t just….just... **MAKE** him do things that he might not want to do!”

“He is a _slave. I can make him do anything._ ”

Hawke slaps her so hard that her head is almost snapped from her shoulders. Hawke stalks off to stride next to her father, body curled into herself and glaring down at her feet. Leandra and the twins sleeps inside the small carriage that Malcolm had borrowed from a neighbor. The horses knew how to go home and all he had to do was send them on their way when everything was on the ship. Danarius turns to shot Hadriana a look which she points to the red handprint on her face. Fenris hopes that Hawke never ends up like either of them. Even if it wrong for a slave to think that way.

It takes two weeks but as the snow begins to fall in sheets they reach the boat and the woman who will take them back to Tevinter. Isabela is a busty woman in a thin sack that she swears is a dress. It barely comes to her thighs. She greets them with a smirk and her crew loads everything up. Carver stares right at her exposed side boob and Hawke covers his eyes before thanking her for the ride. Isabela looks Hawke up and down and then gives her a flirty smirk. She tells Hawke something that makes her giggle and blush and shoos the twins back to Leandra.

The pirate looks at him and then ask Hawke something. She turns and looks right at him. Soft golden eyes gaze at him with a mix of sorrow and pity but also fear. She turns back to the pirate and answers. Isabela only shrugs her shoulders and then barks orders at her men who are deeply sun kissed and covered in scars and gold and daggers. They board the ship and pull out as the sun hangs like a pale orb in the winter sky. The twins and the sea do not agree with each other.

They hang their heads out the side of the open holes under the railings of the ship. The sailors give them warm water and let them sleep on top of the crates near the edge. Leandra hovers near them and smooths their hair. The sailors are well paid, for they speak like civilized men within ear shot of Leandra and the twins. Hawke, Malcolm, Hadriana, his master and him get to hear their uncensored words. Isabela keeps them all in line with sharp words and quick daggers. Malcolm and Hawke speak softly to each other and Fenris can hear the words.

He is trying to teach her Arcanum in the time it will take them to get to the Imperium. Fenris doubts that she will learn all she needs to know in so little a time. Danarius claps a hand on his shoulder and digs his thumb into a line on lyrium, running light magic into it. Fenris has to bite his tongue, blood filling his mouth, to stop himself from crying out. Danarius leans down to whisper in his ear.

“Keep an eye on her, Fenris. Malcolm too. Tell me when you see a weakness in them. Malcolm was easy, he always ways, but her? She is unknown to me. To any man or woman. So keep a **VERY** close eye on her. And if you can use her naivety in carnal pleasure to my advantage, then do so.”

“Yes, master.”

And so he does. Hawke doesn’t use a staff. Malcolm, his master, and Hadriana do. But Hawke won’t pick one up or even acknowledge it. She keeps the twins from fighting each other. They are sick more often than not but when they have the energy they argue over magic and mages. Carver thinks he is just a late bloomer. His magic will come in soon.

He is sure of it. Fenris can hear the cracking voice. He knows he will never be a mage, not like his sisters, but he clings to the hope. In Ferelden he would have been fine. Now they go to Tevinter and he will not even be noticed by the noble circles that they will be forced into. Hawke will married off to continue the noble bloodline. She will have slaves and servants and she will no longer be a shy girl who flirts accidently with the pirate queen blessed with sun kissed skin and a golden tongue.

Her sister will be her heir until she births a child. She could even become Archon. She would have been better off in Ferelden. All of them. But still, he watches them as he was told. As they cross the sea, the weather warms and the Hawke children try to hide from the sun. Leandra enjoys the heat and he doesn’t even notice it. He welcomes it. Danarius, Malcolm and Hadriana welcome it as well. It is while the children hide in the shade of some large crates that he comes over with water. They are almost home. Hawke smiles at him and thanks him for the water. As she hands the water skin to her siblings first, she looks up and past him. Her eyes grow wide and her mouth drops open in shock. Fenris turns to see what she is looking at. The shore line of Tevinter. Golden statues of Mages with flaming staffs, slaves made of white marble at their feet, bowing and in pain. The sentry boats prowl and stop their boat. As Isabela speaks to the mages and Danarius gives them the proper papers, Malcolm and Leandra come over to see the coast as well.

“It looks like Kirkwall, but more…” Leandra says and then trails off.

“It is meant to make you speechless but also to feel small and afraid.” Malcolm says.

“This is...this is the _Tevinter Imperium_?” Hawke asks as the twins clutch her hands on either side of her. Fenris bows his head. She sounds so...he doesn’t even know. She doesn’t sound impressed though.

“Yes.”

Danarius slides up to stand near Malcolm, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Welcome home.”

 

 


	2. Welcome home, Malcolm Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was a lie. He should have known better.

The stench of unwashed flesh, spices, and the sea mix together with the unmistakable undertone of blood. Old blood that hadn’t been properly washed away. The heat pours down in waves, digging deep into the bones and raising sweat to settle on the skin. Malcolm remembers this place, he had grown up here and he knew this dock like he knew his own children. The shops that lead to the corrupt heart of this city sell anything you can imagine. A bakery with sweet breads covered in pepper flakes and the inside coated in raspberry jam. A hat shop that had once been owned by a very eccentric man from Orlais.

Malcolm doubted he still ran it. Between these simple shops were the ones that made him cringe to remember. Leather whips and chains. Whores in the windows turning and twisting in their naked flesh to entice customers. Special shops that reeked of rich, heady perfume and hidden away by  thick red cloth. Malcolm remembers those shops. Nicodemus had taken him there often when he still lived here.

The slaves too broken to care. The curved daggers stained with blood. Demons trapped into shiny jewels and sent to rivals to drive them insane. As he looks around he can see the slaves running with bowed heads around the docks. As he helps Leandra down from the ramp the noise reaches his ears and his stomach drops. The newest arrivals to be sold off always happened in the middle of the week and always close to end of the month. Magisters were always running low on slaves near the end of the month and most definitely near the end of the year.

Between the larger bidding wars, the arena was opened and the gluttonous appetite for blood was stated another way. Swords, tridents, shields, arrows and nets and so many young slaves with too many scars and too little sleep were sent to kill each for the amusement of people who didn’t care about them. Sometimes they would send in lions and bears, half starved things who were more bone than animal. On a few rare occasions they had sent in Qunari with shaved off horns and missing limbs to fight the slaves. Nicodemus had often made outrageous amounts of money from betting on those fights. The slaves who were also mages often died quickly. They would kill themselves rather than try to fight the more desperate slaves without magic.

As Hawke holds her siblings close to her, Leandra hears the voices calling out numbers as well. In every language. Malcolm will not shield them from this. He can not. They are never leaving again, for he knows his father. He is a man who would gladly sell the world to further his own ambitions. They walk towards the carriages waiting for them, branded with Danarius’ house symbol, and the selling can be seen.

Frightened people of all races stripped of everything save their value and placed into chains that bit into their skin at every movement they made. As Hadriana and Danarius entered the first carriage, his family waited with horror stricken faces as a young girl, no older than Bethany was yanked forward by her hair and then beaten for not doing as she was told. Leandra covered her mouth as tears ran down her face. Hawke looked away, down at her feet while her hands covered Carver and Bethany from the horror. The screams she couldn’t block out but the sight of it she could. Malcolm watched and felt so far away. He had wanted to come home, as all people who left home did. But he always knew he didn’t want to come home as well.

This was a place for the cruel and the powerful. Not people like him and his family. Fenris held the door open for them, on the second carriage and he pushed Leandra inside. Hawke and the twins all but flew into the safety of the four walls and he entered last, with a thank you to Fenris. He watched his family as they took in the sights. Slaves covered in only thin sheets that were see through, scars and bruises dotting their thin frames like brands. Collars, heavy and obscene, weigh heavily on their necks and ankles.

Every few miles a new stage is seen with the same act. Buy and sell. Buy and sell. Young and old. Weak and strong. Male and female. Buy and sell. Buy and sell.

Whips and catcalls. Leandra holds the twins to her collarbone, hiding their eyes from the world that they are passing. She weeps and the twins cling tight to her body. Hawke watches, her eyes burning with unshed tears at what she is looking at. Malcolm hopes that he is not wrong about his oldest. She will see this place for what it is. She will rise to power and change it all.

Crush it under her heel and tear down the stage that host this festering play on mortality with a righteous fist of justice. She takes a shuddering breath and he finally speaks since landing on the shores of his former home.

“What do you think of this place, Hawke?” he asks her softly, as her mother hides her tears in the hair of her younger children. Leandra had thought this place to only sound as bad as it had been described to her. She had no idea how right so many of those rumors were based on the horrible truth that was the Tevinter Imperium.

She turns to him then and he sees, for a moment, the woman she will grow up to be. She has pinned her hair up and away from her face, showing off high cheeks given to her by her mother, the golden eyes which haunt him, for they look so much like the eyes of his father. Clear skin blessed to be smoothed and her lips set into a firm line. She wipes the tears away and holds her body tightly to sit as straight as she can. Hands clenched into fist on her knees. She answers in a firm and calm tone, “I don’t like this place at all, not even when we were on that damn boat to get here. My magic will serve that which is best, not what is most base in me. This place will not change me. I won’t let it.”

Malcolm only nods his head and watches as familiar streets pass him. The houses that come after the docks and simple shacks with broken roofs and dirty gutters. The homes get a little bigger, some even have very small, brown patches of grass. Woman hang their laundry on the fences to dry. The air is thick with filth and spilt drink. More modest house come next with the same small patch of grass but instead of brown it a semi-sick yellowish-green. For a long stretch of miles it is a road paved with stones along the coast of the sea.

Malcolm knows that in the hazy distant, the island of Seheron is there, covered in fog and a war with no end rages on. They come to a gate and paper must be given to be allowed to enter. The true jewel of the Imperium. Minrathous. Magic here is done with little thought. Buildings tower over them in their ivory splendor, draped with thick cloth made of gold and silver. They glittered in the sunlight.

The slaves here still rushed, still half clothed. Grander versions of the shops that had been near the docks now spanned three blocks and two stories. Women in golden chains that were attached to sensitive body parts danced in the street for the enjoyment of young men and women alike. Older slaves held the hands their smaller masters, holding all of their toys and shiny trinkets that would be forgotten before the afternoon was out. The plaza was a thing of wonder to see as the magic water fountain sprayed out different colors of water, shooting them into different bowls a few feet away. The bowls were held up by magic and moved with the music that drifted down from the clock tower which stood taller than most of the buildings. It called out the time on the hour every hour.

As they moved away from the center of attention and into the residential area the houses were like small castles. Large yards with flowers of every shade and green, green grass. The homes were made of marble, brick, even white-washed stone. Household guards, slaves as well,  prowled along the walls and kept watch at the closed front gates. Between each home was a wide street and little wooden beams that held an empty glass bubble wrapped in thick wire that was attached to the wood arm of the beam. Malcolm knew that a lower paid city official and his or her workers came as the sun was setting and put small magelight crystals inside of them to light the streets at night. The land of Gods and Monsters.

Some of the older houses had stone carved dragon's, jaws open to devour anyone, in their yards. Covered in ivy and sweet smelling flowers. As they turned down a road that had red painted wall with a gold trim, Malcolm knew he was almost home. Leandra had stopped weeping, and he had held her hand the whole ride. Hawke sat, still ramrod straight, eyes clenched shut. The twins had slid down to the floor and held onto each other with their arms interlocked. The other hand was holding Leandra and Hawke by their legs.

Their little feet pressed tightly to his boots. He used his other hand to smooth their hair and they didn’t look up at him. The Mabari, Monster as Carver had named him, was not allowed to be in the carriage with them. He would be with the rest of their things when they got to the home of Nicodemus. Where The Archon was waiting as well. Malcolm wondered if the Senate still met once a month or not. He wondered if The Archon and The Black Divine still tried to kill each other.

He wondered if it was the right choice to bring his children here. To bring Leandra here. As the carriage passes two Templars on duty to patrol the streets, they are smiled at with a nod of the head and unmolested. In Ferelden, they would have at least been stopped. So paranoid of mages that everyone with the wrong look was checked. So he taught his girls to hide their magic. Take the mana and spread it thin into every inch of the soul and body.

Hold it tightly to your bones and breath evenly. A mage controls the mana, not the other way around. He hopes that it was the right choice. As they pull into his childhood home, he truly hopes that he is right. The door is opened by Fenris once more and he helps his children and Leandra out. The house is still the same. Clean stone walkways, green grass with roses and forget-me-nots growing.

The household guards holding swords and daggers and weighed down by runed collars, stand like golden statues at even intervals. The front door, a silver monster with a dragon breathing fire down on a knight, open and his father is rolled out by an older slave. Malcolm recognizes him. Jarvis. An old elf with a gap toothed smile. His father does not look sick. He looks fine.

Malcolm can not remember a time when his father was not bound to this chair with wheels on it. Danarius comes to stand next to him. Leandra hold his arm tightly. The twins hide behind their mother. Hawke keeps her head held high and fist clenched. Nicodemus is pushed close to them. Barely a foot between them. He smiles at them and in his eyes there is no love. No loss. A lie and a plan years in the making. Malcolm glares at his father. His father who is dressed in gold and white silk. Each finger covered in gold and jewels. He turns his gaze to Danarius with a coy smile plasted on.

“Thank you, nephew. Please come in and have some tea. Brunch will be served soon.”

Danarius nods his head, “Of course. I assume that The Archon will be in attendance?”

“Of course. We have much to discuss.”

Danarius glides to the door, Hadriana on his heels and Fenris following behind with a bowed head and a bad limp. Nicodemus turns to look at Malcolm.

“My son.” he says.

“I thought you died alone. A long, long time ago.” Malcolm says as a way of greeting.

Nicodemus smiles like the cat who caught the canary and chuckles. He leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his pronounced stomach, “Oh no,” he says, “not me. I never lost control of the situation, my boy.”

“Malcolm who is this?”  Leandra whispers into his ear.

“The man who would gladly sell the world for his own selfish gain. My father.”

Nicodemus looks at Hawke then and his smiles turns into a sneer, “And aren’t you pretty? Tell me girl, are you a mage?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Nicodemus says and looks back at Malcolm with a smirk, “at least you got that part right, my dear boy. Maker above forbid you have no mage children at all.”

“I would still love them, even if they weren’t mages.” Malcolm snaps. Nicodemus only gives a heavy, put upon sigh, and shakes his head. He snaps his fingers and Jarvis is there once more to wheel him into the house.

“Come along.” Nicodemus calls from over his shoulder, “Brunch is almost done and this sun is too hot for my liking.”

The carriages are gone. Malcolm holds his wife close to him and moves into the mouth of the beast that will swallow him whole. The slaves shut the door and present to them bowls of rose water to wash their hands and faces. They are given fresh towels to dry off with and soft house shoes are given to them. They are lead to the smaller dining room that was placed into the sun room. The sunflowers his mother liked to grow herself, the only thing she ever did for herself by herself, still grew along the windows, reaching up to the sun. His father is at the head of the table.

Danarius is at his left hand, Hadriana next to him. Fenris stands in the shadows by the windows. He enters with his family. The right hand seat is for him and he pulls the seat next to that one out for Leandra. He tries to. A slave, a dwarven man with a shaved face has beat him to it.

Leandra sits stiffly in the chair. The dwarf pushes her in. The twins sit next to their mother, Carver and then Bethany. Hawke is given the seat directly across from Nicodemus. It is a smaller table. He takes his seat. The food is served to them by slaves who come and go as quickly and silently as shadows in the night.

A light summer salad and white wine is the first course. Leandra holds her hand over the cups of the twins with a shake of her head. They are given orange juice instead. Hawke is given wine but she pushed it away with a polite no thank you. Bethany and Carver share their drinks with her. Nicodemus and Danarius speak in Arcanum on purpose. Hawke, he can tell, catches a few words but still doesn’t follow the conversation.

Finally Nicodemus looks right at Leandra and smiles at her. She smiles back. The next course is oysters in a red wine sauce with breaded mushrooms.  

“How did you meet my son, darling?” he asks.

Leandra takes a small sip of her wine. The same wine as when they first started. Hadriana is on her third glass.

“Kirkwall.” she says with a smile and hold Malcolm's hand, “We meet at a crowded party and ran away together.”

Nicodemus gives a soft laugh, “Kirkwall? An old slave trading colony I believe.”

“Kirkwall is quite nice when you get to know it.” Leandra says, trying to defend her home.

Danarius speaks around the lip of his wine glass, “We’re sure it is, my dear.”

A slave entered and bows low to them before handing Nicodemus a letter on a silver platter with a letter opening knife. He reads it quickly and throws it back on the tray. The slave is gone in a flash. He sighs heavily, “Your cousin shall be late. He will not be here until later tonight. Dinner will have to be our meeting time.”

“Of course.” Danarius says as his plate is taken away. The twins nor Hawke have really eaten. Forgoing food and foreign ways. Leandra remember her manners and at least picks at the food. Her children will not try to impress a man from a city that has done little to impress them.

“Perhaps,” Hadriana says lightly, “we can all freshen up then while we wait for dinner? A chance to take nice, long baths, and dress into more suitable clothing for a dinner party. After brunch has concluded of course.”

“Splendid idea!” Nicodemus says as he holds out his glass to be refilled with wine. The girl who comes in is shaking. She spills the wine and drops the bottle. The breaking glass is so loud. They all watch as it drops in slow motion. Nicodemus only gives her a blank look. She tries to stutter out an apology but Nicodemus has never been a forgiving man.

Not even to his own child. A hand strikes out and send the girl to the ground with a small cry falling from her lips. Nicodemus snaps his fingers and a thick black fig bubbles up from the sunflowers. They wilt before their eyes and a demon of sloth slinks out and goes toward the girl. Malcolm stands to try and stop this madness. But his daughter beats him to the punch. She stands between the demon and the slave girl.

The demon hisses at her and takes a swipe at her. She jumps back and scoops up a thick shard of glass from the broken bottle. Leandra yells at Hawke to move. Hawke only lower her body closer to the ground, grip tight on the glass. The demon charges and Hawke braces herself. Malcolm summons a ball of fire and throws it at the demon. Hawke and the demon fall to the smooth, black tiled floor in a crash of limbs and fire.

The demon gives a shierk as it dies and Hawke pushed herself up, hair wild and undone with her back turned to them. Malcolm rushes to her daughter's side and helps her up. She is unsteady on her feet and there is blood on her shirt. She lifts her head and across her nose is a thick and open cut. It will scar. The glass is covered in demon blood. She throws the shard with all her might and it lands on the table, between two of Nicodemus’ fingers.

She moves to the slave girl and helps her up, dusting off her simple dress. Three slaves come in. Two to clean up and one to spirit away the one Hawke saved. Hawke glares at Nicodemus and he smiles at her.

“That was impressive, girl. Are you sure you’re a mage?”

Hawke pulls her magic out and over the cut. It scabs over as her blue and white magic stitched the skin back together as best it can. It will still scar. Leandra comes over and wipes the blood from her daughter's face. The twins are in shock. Carver breaks it as he throws his hands up.

“That was amazing! You killed a demon with a piece of glass!”

“That bath is in order now.” Danarius says as he stands.

“Indeed.” Hadriana says with a smirk. 


	3. Mother isn't a mage.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mages come in all shapes and forms. Too bad some mages are held to higher standard than others.

Bethany was not happy at all. They had to move and leave behind all their friends. Then they had to go on a boat that made her and Carver seasick for weeks. And for what? To come this horrible place that was too hot and had too many people wearing dog collars and being very scared of her and her sister and her father. Her father she could understand. He was big old teddy bear to them but like all teddy bears, he was very good at making mad things go away like magic.

Because he had magic. Carver still hadn’t developed his magic. Bethany was sure that something was blocking him from his magic. Maybe it was because he was so angry all the time? Bethany didn’t know. What she did know was that she did not need help taking a bath. She did not need four other people in the room with her.

She also knows that a bathroom should not be this large or this cold or have a tub that was in the ground and had steps. She frowned at the people in dog collars and white silk. They wouldn’t look at her. She crossed her arms over her chest and pushed herself into the wall next to the giant oak wood door. She was ten and three months old(minus seven seconds because Carver was born first), she knew how to take a bath correctly. Mother had shown Hawke and Hawke had shown her and Carver. A bucket to get wet, scrub all of your hair really hard until your scalp kinda hurts but not in a bad way. Clean the body, every inch, even the feet and between the toes, inside the belly button because it can get dirty too.

A another bucket to rinse everything off. Flip your hair so it hands between your knees and wash it again and one more half bucket to rinse that. Hawke sometimes needed three, mother too. Hawke said Bethany would understand when she was older. She asked if Carver would need the extra bucket too. Mother had just laughed and Hawke had shook her head before saying, “Only when he wants to impress a girl, maybe. Or a boy..who knows?”

One of the people, an older lady, smiled at her and got down on both knees. She didn’t look Bethany in the eye though. Somewhere to the right over her shoulder at the wall. Hawke would talk to Templars like that whenever any showed up around the chanter's board. It made it look like you were looking at them, but not really. She had pointy ears, the older lady. Like that nice boy Fenris.

He made Hawke smile. Hawke didn’t smile much. She laughed even less than that. Mother always wanted her to make friends and Hawke was happy not having any. Father said it was because all of her friends sat in empty chairs at empty tables, telling her old things that left her bored when she woke up and had to deal with people while she was awake. Bethany wondered what kinds of things these friends told her sister. Maybe Hawke would tell her one day!

But today, at this moment, these people wanted to help her bathe when she knew how to do so on her own. She was half tempted to go and find her sister or mother and join them in the semi-quick process of getting clean. Hawke didn’t like to be naked long and she had to quickest bathing times. And the cleanest hair. Mother always said so. As the old woman spoke softly, Bethany heard the voices of Carver and Hawke. She moved to the door and opened it, waving them down.

Carver looked like he had been crying, not that he would ever admit it, nor would they bring it up. Carver was too much a boy and boys did not like to be told that had been crying. Carvers logic was that it showed that he was weak and weakness was not becoming on the only boy in the house. Bethany had a feeling it was because Hawke cried like how she smiled or laughed. Silently. Carver wanted to be like Hawke. Bethany would not lie, she did too.

Her sister was a powerful mage who always chased away demons and the like. Father did too, or so she thought. She had never seen Father in the Fade before, but she had seen her sister. As Hawke and Carver came to get her the people behind her got down on the floor, hands pressed into the tiles and their heads resting on their hands. She thought that it must be very painful to bend one's feet and knees at such an angle. And the spine too, it looked like it hurt. Hawke sighed when she entered and helped the oldest one up, telling her that it would be fine.

They left all the fancy oils and scented water. Hawke looked at both of them with a pointed look that brooked no argument.

“I’m going to use magic to get clean, hot water. We **DO NOT** tell Father or Mother. Deal?”

“Deal.” Carver said with a sad mutter. Bethany nodded her head and began to undo her braided pigtails. She had done them all of her own. Mother had been very pleased and Hawke had smiled at her. She knew that they had become frizzy in the heat, a few strands standing up in rage at being subjected to the sudden warmth, but she didn’t mind it. Mother had smooth long hair that would lie flat unless pushed and pulled and pinned into shapes.

Like Hawke and her and Carver. Father had wavy hair. Mother was always very sad that none of them had gotten her pretty pastel blue eyes. Bethany thinks that she would look very pretty with blue eyes, but she likes her amber colored ones just as well. Father says they are gold. In the right light, Bethany can see it, but they are mostly amber colored than golden. Hawke makes quick work of getting the bath ready.

Fresh clothing had been left for her and Carver had carried his in. Hawke had shiny hair pulled back from her face and braided with a red ribbon that waved to them as it moved. She had already taken her bath then. She had placed a small piece of gauze on her nose over the scab. She had dressed herself in the soft white shirt that had once belonged to Father. Mother had used her own magic, the magic that wasn’t really magic, but magic nonetheless, to mend and twist and sew it into a nice shirt for her sister to wear. The pants she used when her and mother would cut down the wheat and pick the cotton from the field.

She wore news shoes though. Thick but supple white leather with shiny golden buckles every half inch from her ankle to her calf. Her toes wiggled as the water splashed them. Bethany had seen her sister bare feet before and she had seen her feet covered before. But never a mix of the two. As Hawke combed her hair free of tangles she spotted her own smaller pair of funny shoes. As Hawke handed Carver the first bucket, she pulled her dress shif over her head and Hawke helped her with the rest of her summer dress.

A pale pastel yellow with little pink butterflies stitched into the hem. The shoes had seven real buckles while the rest were all fake! Bethany wiggled her own toes. It felt odd to have air on her feet but also to be covered at the same time. Carver gave a small yelp as Hawke tugged out one last tangle. They did one last look over of each other and then marched, holding onto their big sister's hand, down the long hallways covered in paintings of stern men and mean looking women. Bethany wondered if they were family.

She hoped that they weren’t. The golden eyes glaring down at her as they passed told her to stop hoping that. As they came back into the small room that had served them bad tasting food, the sun was much lower and Mother was being spoken to by their...grandfather? He didn’t seem like a nice man. Her Father was a nice man. She didn’t like him but Father had him father so Bethany would have to accept that. The man looked past Mother and then smiled at them. Bethany pulled her body closer to her sister and a little behind.

She didn’t like when this man smiled at them.

“Aw, children.” he cooed at them, “I’m so glad you’re here. I think the heat is getting to your mother. She is being _very_ tight lipped about where she trained her magic at.”

“Unless she is a _hedge mage_.” said the women, Hadriana, with a sneer of her face. Bethany stuck her tongue out at her. She glared at Bethany for doing that. Hawke pushed her farther behind her leg. Mother came over to smooth the stray hair flying away from Hawke. Her sister gave the man an even look and then gave a low snort.

“You have _three_ grandchildren, **serah.** Why should my mother's background be so concerning to you?” she said in a way of answering him. She always had a way with her words. Both soft and sharp. Bethany liked it when her sister would get snarky with people. But she didn’t think it was a good idea poke at a man who could summon demons.

Grandfather glared at Hawke, “You will address me in a manner befitting my status, girl. I am your _grandfather._ I expect you to call me such.”

“You are lucky enough to get a serah at the end of my sentences. You have done nothing to earn the title of grandfather, save to sire my father. But if we gave out titles for every time someone had _sex_ we would never have to eat to drink.”

The man glared at her but Father and Danarius came into the room just as he opened his mouth. Fenris came in behind them. The man turned his glare to Father as he argued in low tones to Danarius. Mother looked at him, her hand holding onto her sister's shoulder. When Father saw them he stopped and looked at his father.

“ _What did you do?_ ” he snapped at the man.

Grandfather smiled, “Your daughter has a sharp tongue for one so young.”

“He wanted to know where I trained my magic at.” Mother said.

Father rubbed his head with a heavy sigh, “Why do you need to know? You have three grandchildren from your only heir. What more do you want?”

“To know that you did not sully your **pedigree** , boy.”

“My pedigree is not something that should be brought up,” Father snarled eyes flashing and fire dancing between his fingers, “when one is in love and trying to raise _children._ ”

Danarius pours himself a drink. Bethany wonders why everyone here drinks so much. Fenris stands near Danarius with his head bowed and his arms behind his back.

“Just tell me boy.”

“Is she a _somniari?_ ” Hadriana asks.

Bethany can’t help herself. She does try, she truly does. But she asks anyway, “What is a somniari? Is that a kind of mage?”

Danarius turns his own smile to her. His smile is even worst. Before he can even answer, a new voice beats him to it. She turns along with everyone else, save Fenris, to see who has entered the room. A very pudgy man with thinning black hair and wearing a golden robe sprinkled with jewels. Everyone except her family and Fenris smiled at the man as he answered her question.

“ **A somniari!** _A dreamer_ that can go into the Fade and change it to their will. Kill their foes, drive them mad, even haunt their dreams all while **asleep**! Somniari, a mage so rare that if we here in the Imperium ever had one, we would raise them to the status like those that were once given to the _old gods_ of the older empire!”

Hawke looked sick and Father seemed tense. Mother gathered them close.

“I _doubt_ that she is so rare a mage.” Grandfather said with a lazy wave of his hand. And Carver opened his mouth. Looking back, Bethany wished he hadn’t opened his mouth at all.

“Mother isn’t a mage.”

At this everyone turns to look at them, look at mother. She bows her head.

“It’s true. But my bloodline does have magic in it.” she says.

“So then your children are lesser mages.” the new man sneers.

And once again, Carver drives in another nail, “Hawke isn’t a lesser mage. She one of those salami things.”

“Carver!” Father snaps.

“ **It’s true**!” Carver snaps back from behind Hawke, who does not speak, she just stares ahead, eyes glassy and gone, “She killed a demon with a shard of glass! She is in my dreams all the time! Bethany has seen in her dreams too! You said that she has friends who sit in empty chairs at empty tables and tell her stories of a long time ago! She is! **She is a better mage than anyone in this room; even you!”**

Bethany turns and pushes him, yelling at him, _“At least she is a mage, Carver unlike you!”_

And the room goes quiet. She slaps her hands over her mouth. Carver looks at her like she has slapped him. Hawke looks down at her and she looks up at and her mother.

“Bethany...you shouldn’t hurt your brother like that.” Hawke says softly.

“Somniari,” the new man breaths out with something like aw in his voice. Hawke turns to look at him and then she looks away. Mother holds her close and Father comes to stand between them and the other people in the room. The new man chuckles, “born again. Oh...the things we can do for each other.”

Hawke only shakes her head and says, “I don’t have any power. It’s all in your head.”

At this the room explodes into laughter and Bethany knows, looking back, that at this moment, is when Hawke was placed onto a pedestal she will never be able to fly down from. But she does know that her sister will still try. Hawke doesn’t know how to give up.

******

Dinner is not by any means a kind affair. Fenris can feel the magic and the anger that is powering it. Hawke doesn’t look up as The Archon speaks to her about the things she can do. Which Magisters would kill for her to be their newest apprentice. Her father and the others argue over each other in low tones in Arcanum. The twins glare at each other. Her mother eats the food given to her with a tense but pleasant smile.

By the fifth course of the meal, the twins are tired and her mother is full. Hawke has not eaten and she looks very far away. Fenris wonders if she is really here or if she is in the Fade so she will not have to listen. He wonders what it is like to be in the Fade. He knows that all beings dream, save dwarves, but if they are not mages, then the Fade must be dull. Do mages see things that no one else can see? According to the Archon she would be able to travel anywhere she wanted, to bend the Fade to her will, change everything and anything she wanted.

Control demons. He looks at her and he doesn’t see it. He does not see a person like the Archon or his master. He sees a girl the same age as him who was born a mage but having the wisdom to not let her power dictate how she would treat those who are not gifted with the powers she was. A good woman. This place will destroy her. As he tunes back in, Danarius is standing up, yelling at the Archon.

Malcolm Hawke is yelling as well.

“She will _not_ have a slave!” Malcolm roars.

“ _He is mine! You can not take him away!”_ Danarius yells along with Malcolm.

The Archon slams his hands on the table, cracking it down the middle and setting the table cloth on fire, “ **I** rule this place! **I** make all of the rules here and no one, **_NO ONE_** , can tell me what I can and cannot do! She is now the Atlus to Nicodemus! Your slave, _that one_ ,” he snaps and points right at Fenris, “is hers now. If I hear so much as one more breath about this **_I will have you two burned alive!_** ”

Danarius growls low in his throat but bows his head in defeat. He waves Fenris over to Hawke, who has grabbed her brother while her mother had grabbed sister, from the burning table. It is the first time in living in memory that he has been sold to another master. All things considered, it could be worse. He prays that it won’t be worst. He comes to stand behind her and she won’t look at him. The arguing gets very loud and then Malcolm looks at his family and he lets the anger drains away from him. He stands tall and says, “In the morning we can discuss this. For now, my family and I are going to retire for the night.”

The twins stay with his new master and her mother and father go to the room next door. They curl in the middle of the bed, back to back. His new master sits in front of the open window and curls into her own body. She shakes and then she looks at him, tears glittering on her face. She looks at him for a long time.

“I’m so sorry, Fenris.” she says and then helps him have a small bed on the couch in the room. She doesn’t sleep that night. He knows because he can hear her soft sniffles from the window. 


	4. Agree to disagree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She should have known better

The next two months were interesting. Hawke, although an Atlus by demand of The Archon, refused to act like one. She did not dress as she should, cut her hair into the latest fashion(shaved on one side with the other cut into sections that went from very short to end curving under the chin), or go with her grandfather to the local opium dens to meet others of her social standing. She stayed the same. She dressed in her farmer's clothing, with the sleeves rolled up and the pants as well. She still wore her hair in a loose ponytail. She still watched over the twins, who had forgiven each other for the outburst, and the Mabari named Monster. Fenris didn’t understand why.

She was no longer a lower class citizen like how her mother was considered. No man, woman, or child born without magic was every considered anything other than a lower class citizen. It was how it was in Tevinter. But Fenris had seen how quickly she was to tear apart those who had insulted her family. So he never told her about that fact. She also didn’t seem to know what to do with the sudden surplus of money she was now entitled to. Malcolm had been bullied to be near his father and spend time with him, but Hawke was saved from having to because Malcolm used the twins as her buffer from the man who gazed her far too often.

Fenris could see that it was putting a strain on him. Hawke could too. But she had often said that he looked at her in a way that made her stomach turn. Fenris knew that look. Just because Nicodemus was in a chair did not mean that his sexual drive was affected by it. But he also didn’t tell his new master that. She was very kind to him.

She had told him to call her Hawke, that he was a slave in name only and that he could ask anything and she wouldn’t mind it. He was a slave and he knew that he wasn’t free, not really. But the fact that she did not view him as a slave made something warm and fluttery settle inside of him. He was given the couch in her room to sleep on. She let him eat when he wanted and allowed him to carry a sword with him. She had gifted him a two handed claymore infused with runes of healing and fire. She had seen in the market with the twins.

The twins had been bought new, summer clothing by their sister, who did not know how much power she had, and she had seen the sword. She had smiled and asked him if he knew how to fight. He told her everything. Even about his lyrium brands. The idea that he could reach into a chest and take out the heart of the person it belonged to horrified and fascinated her. She had said as much to him. Today though, he noticed how deep the dark circles under eye had become.

She slept only for a few hours at a time. He had dared to ask the twins about it. They said she often had odd sleeping patterns. Some months she slept for long amounts of times. Others she didn’t sleep at all. Fenris wondered if the fact that she had been outed as a somniari had made her afraid to sleep. The Archon had come a few times to ask her to show him as he napped.

She had often told him no, she didn’t know how. And since no mage knew either, with only old books written in old, old elvish, it was not like The Archon could accuse her of lying. Fenris had a feeling she was. The twins had told him a few times, that they had seen her and talked to her in their dreams. Perhaps, he thought, she does not how to go from one dream to another on her own. Perhaps she is not aware of her own power. As he watched her train with her magic, always far away from him since magic made his markings hurt, he doubted it.

She was training her with her younger sister while he trained Carver in two-handed sword fighting. The ice wall that Hawke had made stood thick and frozen in the heat that was beating down. It was spring heat, and it was hotter than when the Hawke family had first arrived. Bethany was trying to make hers stand as tall as her sisters. Seven feet tall and three feet wide, at least. The wall that Bethany was making(or at least trying to make) barely reached her knees and was barely wider than her spread feet. Carver was doing better.

The push-ups and sit-ups trained his body while playing tag in a blindfold taught him how to be aware of his surroundings. A fight was not always going to be easy or fair. He was talented and he often told Hawke that. She had smiled and told Carver how proud she was of him. The twins as well still slept with her. They had their own rooms, where they would play before bed, along with the Mabari. But they would come into her room, curl into her bed, the Mabari at their feet, and sleep.

His master didn’t seem to mind it. He asked her about it and she had told him that they slept like this for as long as the twins had been able to sleep on their own. And she wouldn’t mind it until they did. As Hawke spoke softly to her sister he could see her body sway. She was getting tired again. She would nap for a few hours but then she would jerk awake, eyes frantic and afraid. She would never look at him after her naps.

Today though, she had not napped, and she had been up all night. Fenris was still a bodyguard and thus he still did his job even if she did not treat him as one. Every three hours he would awake and check the room, the hallway and even outside of the window, and she had been awake each time. A small ball of magelight being used as she read over books. He didn’t know what their were about. Slaves were not permitted to read. And he would not tell her that.

She did not want him as a slave and he would not burden her with his shortcomings. Tonight he would make her sleep. She needed to sleep. As the day wore down, her grandfather once more bothered her about her somniari status and she once more ignored him about it. When the sun set she dressed down quickly behind the changing screen. The twins were getting comfy, ready to be read the story that they had picked out and that Hawke had been reading to them for a few weeks. Fenris enjoyed the story as well.

A brave little boy with his talking lion guardian on a quest to save his sister who had been taken by the shadow king. So far the boy was almost to the dark kingdom but the lion was injured and lost. The twins wanted the lion to be ok and so did Fenris. The lion was wise and loved the boy without asking for anything. A noble way of living life. When the twins were carried off to sleep by her voice, she shut the book and put the red ribbon in place so they could continue the next night. She rubbed her eyes as she sat crossed legged under the thin blankets between the twins and their sleeping forms.

He came to stand before her at the foot of the bed. She looked up at him and smiled sleepily. He knew it was not the place of a slave to tell his master anything, but he also knew that she needed to sleep. She could not continue on like this.

“Hawke, you need sleep.”

“I know.” she said softly, and then sighed as she rubbed her eyes, “I know.”

He frowned, “Why don’t you?”

“I can’t. If I do, then I’ll drag someone with me by mistake. I know how to fight the demons and the whispers. I can do that just fine. But I can’t fight the demons and protect someone else. I can’t do that. I already know that the demon want me, Fenris. But I can at least make them work for it.”

He only shook his head, “You are a good and noble woman. You need to sleep. I will protect you and the twins.”

Hawke laughed into her hand, as quiet as she could since the twins had not yet dropped off into a deep, deep sleep, “I know you would. I’ll try.” She put the book into his hands and leaned back until her head touched the pillow. Her eyes fought sleep and her body twitched until it settled and her eyes drifted shut. She snored. Fenris smirked. It was not a lady like snore either, it was a normal snore. Carver slept with his mouth open and Bethany moved and twisted like an eel.

Fenris settled on the rug near the Mabari, who moved to settle its massive head on his thigh, watching the door, hand on his dagger. He didn’t mean to fall asleep. Falling asleep was not something that you could describe but everyone who slept knew it. A sleepy and warm feeling and then darkness. Then dreams. But this dream was not the same that Fenris had. His dreams were murky shadows and distorted voices that haunted him until he woke.

This dream was much different.

*********

High up, crowning the grassy summit of a swelling mount whose sides are wooded near the base with the gnarled trees of the primeval forest stands the old chateau of long since dead elves and their gods. For centuries its lofty battlements have frowned down upon the wild and rugged countryside about, serving as a home and stronghold for the proud house whose honored line is older even than the moss-grown castle walls. These ancient turrets, stained by the storms of generations and crumbling under the slow yet mighty pressure of time, formed in the ages of feudalism one of the most dreaded and formidable fortress in all of Thedas. From its machicolated parapets and mounted battlements, barons, counts and even would be warmongering kings had been defied, yet never had its spacious halls resounded to the footsteps of the invader. But since those glorious years it has all changed. A poverty but little above the level or dire want, together with a pride of name that forbids its alleviation by the pursuits of commercial life, had prevented the scions of the bloodline from maintaining their estates in pristine splendour; and falling stones of the walls, the overgrown vegetation in the parks, the dry and dusty moat, the ill paved courtyards, and toppling towers without a well as the sagging floors, the worm-eaten wainscott, and the faded tapestries within, all tell a gloomy tale of fallen grandeur. As the ages passed, first one, then another of the four great turrets were left to ruin, until at last but a single tower housed the sadly reduced descendants of the once mighty lords of this place.

A woman with dragon wings and horns glares down from her lofty perch all around the room. This is a new place for Hawke. She has seen many places but she has never seen or even heard whisper of this place. Many elves sleep inside glass boxes. They open their eyes, only a crack and look at her for a few moment before closing in sleep once more. They do not care that she is here. A dreamer is a dreamer and they have seen many dreamers who wander past with no destination and no ulterior motives.

A tourist in the Fade. She lets her fingers trail over the deco painting done in fine jewels. She sees forgotten shadows speaking in old tongues she doesn’t understand. They let her pass without a care. She is a new ghost among the old and the old do not care for the new. As she enters a grand hall with high ceilings she hears Fenris call out to her, “Hawke?” She turns to look at him.

Glowing blue like the lyrium inside of him and he sounds so scared. She keeps her hands at her sides. He draws close and grips her wrist, the lyrium sings at her and she pulls away from him.

“Fenris,” she says and her voice echos and carries all around the chamber, “this is the Fade. A dream for you. Nothing can truly hurt you here.”

“And you?” he asks as he looks around the room. Not a room. A chamber larger than the ball room in her grandfather's house. Maybe even bigger than the center of Minrathous. Here time and space do not mean anything. An object that is miles away can be reach in three short strides while a chair under you could take years to rise from. The Fade has its own rules and those rules are never the same every hour.

“I’ll be fine. Are you...does anything hurt right now?”

Fernis shakes his head, glowing bright and blue and so very warm against her skin, “No. Nothing hurts and...and my head...the voices and shadows are clearer. Or are they?”

She frowns and lets her hand hover over his shoulder, “Fenris, it’s time to wake up now.”

“I...I don’t know how.” he whispers and then grabs her tightly. Her skins burns where her arms are trapped in his hands. He starts to glow brighter. She tries to jerk back but he holds her tighter until she is crushed to his chest. It burns badly and she pushes hard against him but he holds her tightly to his chest. Speaking in common, Arcanum, and something else. Like the words that the shadows in the hallway were speaking.

She manages to get an arm free and she knows that she will regret it. She slaps him as hard as she can and then he is gone. The skin he touched it frayed and red. Torn and burnt. But this is a dream and dreams are only as real as you make them. She runs her hands over the burns and they fade away like mud being washed away by warm water. She will have to apologize to him when she finds her way back to the real world.

She hears someone else push a door open somewhere behind her. She turns and a new elf is there. Bald with a wolf jaw necklace. He looks at her and she looks at him. He smirks and goes on his way. Dreamers are rare, true, but rarely do they bother each other when they cross paths. She holds her breath and closes her eyes.

As she lets out a shuddering breath and opens her eyes, she can feel Carver curled into her lower spine. Bethany kicks out and smacks into her ankle. She lifts herself up and she can the mop of silver/white hair. She has to move slow but manages to crawl over Bethany and push her over to the spot she had been in. The middle of the bed. She didn’t know why the twins liked to be on either side of her. But she wouldn’t question it.

She slide off the bed until she sat next to Fenris, who had placed a hand on his cheek. He looked very confused and then turned that shocked look to her. She ducked her head.

“I’m sorry I smacked you, Fenris. I didn’t mean to. But you were not yourself.”

He gave a very slow nod and let his hand fall down to rest on Monsters head. He used his other hand to reach over and trace where he had put his hands on her upper arm. Her skin was warm from the heat of the room. Behind them, the small sliver of the moon granted them low light. Beyond the door, someone moved by with mage light to aid them in seeing. Her father, one of the slaves, or even her grandfather, which sent a shiver down her spine to think that he had been near her and the twins while they slept. Near Fenris as he slept.

Fenris rested his fingertips on the small pattern he had traced, his eyes burning into her skin as he shivered in the heat of the room. She let him. This is why she had stopped letting others in while she slept. The Fade held no big secrets for her. None that she wanted anyway. But others, they didn’t know how to handle the Fade. They didn’t know how to understand the world that they were seeing with her.

For her it was like the trip to Tevinter. A long ride that moved her along on an unknown horizon to places she had never been. For others, it was not a long ride that moved them along the unknown. It was a very sudden and scary realization that the half-remembered and blurry dreams forgotten upon waking were very much real. That the old wars and the old myths and everything in between were true in some way.

“I...I hurt you. I saw it. I FELT it. I burned you, I was trying to burn you alive because my memories...my memories of before. Before my branding. Before everything. But it was all a flash.”

“Fenris, the pain I feel in the Fade is not real. The pain you feel is not real. I’m not lying when I tell them that it's all in their head. Because it is. But just because it's in your head doesn’t mean it's not real though. I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

Fenris lets his fingers travel to her wrist and holds in his hands. Slim but strong and hard at uneven intervals. The hand of a warrior. He turns her hand palm up and traces the lines in her palm. At every rough patch he runs a finger over it as though to soothe a pain that has long since left. At every callous he presses his thumb into them but not hard enough to hurt. She lets him. He curls his fingers between hers and draws it into his lap. They sit like that for a long time. When the sun peeks into the room, Fenris finally looks at her.

“Hawke,” he says softly as the twins begin to wake up, “could you help me regain my memories? Even if it is only a small part, I would still be grateful to you forever.”

“Of course. You’re a friend, Fenris. Friends help you as best that they can. But…”

“But?”

“This is like a skill, a skill you do not posses. In order to help you in the Fade, you have to learn how control the lyrium inside of you. Control it to the point that you can do anything with it. Move faster, disappear, not only reach inside someone's chest but be able to take their still beating heart out it while keeping the rest of them intact. Because as horrible as it is to say, if you are scary outside of the Fade, then inside of it, you will be fine.”

“I’ll try.”

“You don’t have to try if you don’t want to.”

“I want to. I need to. You speak of my freedom. And I have a feeling that you will one day keep that promise. But if I no memory of who I was and who my family might have been then being free will mean nothing to me.”

Hawke smiles at him and squeezes his hand, “Ok. We can start today if you want.”

****

As Hawke set about braiding her younger sister's hair and helping Carver to tie the knots of his pants. He told her he could do it. But his small fingers fumbled with the thick ties. So instead of doing it for him she was walking him through it, step by step. Fenris had let Monster out and left the door open a crack so he could get back in. Hawke was still in her sleep dress. A sleep dress that left very little to his imagination.

Thin white silk that was more see-through than it had any right to be. It clung to her curves and accented them. She was thick in thigh and hip, curvy and busty. A high ass that was plump. He shook his head. He was a slave and Hawke had never shown interest in any man or woman. She still treated him as a person, all the slaves in the house really, but she showed no interest at what he could do for her.

Even when Hadriana had teased her about it. As soon as the twins were dressed, washed, and presentable, she let them loose. Her black hair was loose and curling around her body as she stood from her seat on the couch and stretched. The sleep dress only came to her knees and being lifted up teased him with where it ended. An inch or two more and she would expose to him her most coveted part of her body. She put her arms down and the tease was over. He looked back down at his feet.

He had no memory and no status. These thoughts were not allowed by slaves. But she didn’t want a slave. She wanted a friend. She had said he was her friend. But she was a mage in a land of mages. She was always going to be his better.

Even if she set him free. She set about her routine in getting ready. As she ducked behind the changing screen a knock came at the door and Nicodemus came in. She pushed her head around the changing screen and glared at her grandfather. He stood by the wardrobe, between them. Arms behind his back, claymore at the ready in it sheath. Head held high but eyes turned to look without being seen looking.

Nicodemus was pushed into the small living area. The old elf, Jarvis, gave him a look of pure terror, trying to tell him something without speaking. Hawke was holding her chest band in her hands, using it to hide her naked chest from them. Nicodemus looked her up and down and then gave her a smile. She didn’t return it. Fenris was glad that she never took the smile and returned it to any magister that gave her one. Nicodemus folded his fingers together, placing his elbows on the armrest of his wheelchair.

“We are hosting a party tonight, my dear. You and your,” he turned to look at Fenris, up and down with one motion of his head, and then clicked his tongue in distaste, “slave, will need to go to the markets and get a proper dress and staff.”

“I don’t wear dresses and I don’t use a staff. And I did NOT say you could enter, Magister. I am getting dressed.”

Nicodemus pointed to Fenris, “And yet he stands there, where if he turned just right, he would see every inch of you.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, “And I share no blood with Fenris. If he saw me I know that he is a man of honor and would not turn to see me without my permission.”

“He is not a man.”

Hawke gave him a scowl and ducked behind the changing screen only to storm out in a pair of loose pants and her breast band. She raised her hand, fist curled, aimed right at Nicodemus. It shook as it hovered in the air. Nicodemus only gave a click on his tongue. Hawke lowered her fist.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to attend the party tonight.”

“And if I refuse?” she asked as she crossed her arms.

Nicodemus smiled, “Then I’ll send you away. Or maybe the twins. Which would hurt your parents more I wonder?”

She let eyes betray her fear, “You can’t do that.”

“Oh,” Nicodemus said with a smirk, “but I can. You and your father are both Altus, not Magisters. I own your lives until you take up the mantel of Magister. So if I wanted to send you away to the city of Solas to train in the Circle of Magi, then I can. If I wanted to send your sister all the way to the other side of the Imperium to train at a different circle from you, then I can. Why I can even send that boy, Carver, to train in the army. They always need cannon fodder for the war against the Qunari.”

Her body shook in suppressed fear and anger, “You can’t.”

“I can. I can even send that slave of yours to Seheron if I wanted. So if you don’t want to lose everything here, you will go to the market, find a nice dress and staff and be very, very polite at the party. Which you will attend. On time. And clean in the Tevinter way. Are we clear?”

She glared down at her feet, and hissed out from between her teeth, “Yes.”

“Good!” Nicodemus said with a smile, “And make sure it has gold in it, dear. You would look lovely in gold.”

 

 


	5. Magister Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember when your potential was a boon instead of burden?

The morning of the party dawned bright and windy. And a very large comet had joined them as well. It was a huge, fiery ball of blood red, fiery orange, and seething yellow. The tail seemed to trail across the sky like a severed limb dragged behind it. It had come late in the night, bright as the sun, waking the whole manor with its light screaming in at them. As Hawke helped Carver and Bethany dress for the day(a day that would be spent with their mother, whom Hawke had sent to a hotel spa, and the night as well, for the feeling of dread had settled into her bones when Nicodemus had come in to tell her the party had been moved to the end of the week so the Archon himself could attend) she kept sneaking glances at the dress that had been made for her for this party. A see-through silk dress that only covered her chest(in the nipple area only) and her genitals.

Her arms were exposed and wrapped in twisting gold that had been shaped into a dragon with the wings flaring out at her wrist. The eyes were twin sets of moonstone. The dragon was inlaid with shiny, tiny, diamonds.The dress itself was more of a hassle to get into than anything else. The nipple cover and genital cover went on first, thick and soft cotton. Then the dress went on, wrapping around her neck and held up by a golden choker with a shiny moonstone in the middle of her throat, where it bobbed up and down each time she spoke. The silk then trailed down(only covering her down the middle and the middle of her back and little else) to pinch in at her waist, and then flare out with a long train and a short front that ended at her ankles.

The sides were open, letting her tan skinned legs peek out each time she took a step. The dress itself was more of a flare than it needed to be. And the old elf, Jarvis, who was fussing over which make-up would flatter her face. Nicodemus had wanted his granddaughter and his son to both look beautiful, and failure to make them so was something that everyone tasked with the request had only shivered and avoided answering the question when pressed about it. In the bathroom two others heated a bath and filled it with sweet smelling oils and set out jars that held different creams that would clean, fluff and style her hair. Fenris had been kind enough for the rest of the week to tell her about the party and how this was a test of wills and a show of power. Malcolm was also being made to attend. Hawke finished brushing the last knot from the silky strands of Bethany's hair when her brother, looking out the large bay window of their room, asked, “What do you think it means?”

Bethany could only look at her twin from the corner of her eye, since Hawke was taking strands of hair from the very top of her head to braid. Hawke was focused on her task. Fenris was watching the many other people in the room. The old, Jarvis, was the one who answered, his voice jovial and light.

“It is a sign, little lord, that your sister will have glory and fame above all others this night!” he sounded so sure and so sincere, “Look, my lord. See how flames across the sky like dragon flame? The dragon is the oldest and most powerful of beast, a beast that even mages had once feared until they killed it. The first dragon was killed by a Hawke. This is a sign! Your sister or your father, whoever the comet has graced with its light, shall be given great glory tonight at the party!”

Bethany frowned, “Then why can’t we go?”

“Adults only.” Hawke said as she gave a small tug to even out the braid, before continuing.

Carver gave her a pouty look, “You’re not an adult.”

Hawke gave him a smile as she braided the long hair of her younger sister, “I’m almost an adult. And you and Bethany will be with mother all day. It’ll be fun.”

The twins gave matching groans. Carver went back to watching the comet make its sad march across the pale, blue sky. Once Bethany was put into a simple pink dress and Carver given a tight hug, they went to go and find mother and Hawke was left to her fate. She did not want to be bathed by others. She was a grown woman and grown women did not get bathed by others. She closed the door with a sigh and rested her head on the warm wooden door. She heard the other door open and she could feel the polite stare of the head washer.

Jarvis was the head slave, oldest and most beloved. As beloved as Nicodemus treated anything. She gathered her courage and turned to look at the head bather. Most of the slaves she had seen since coming here, were elvhen. She had seen a few dwarves and a few humans. She had very, very few Qunari slaves though, but that wasn’t too surprising. The head bather was a man in a simple cloth skirt, with heavy iron brands on his ankles.

He was a pleasant enough man to look at. A clean, cut head of sandy-brown hair, grey eyes and a tender smile. Fenris had told how males became bathers. Like dog that were not allowed to breed, everything below was cut and snipped and pinned back. It made them very timid and meek. After all, no Magister wanted his wife or daughter to be touched by wandering hands while being bathed. Or other body parts.

But a mouth was always welcome. Half of his face had been burnt through, a twisted, pink mess with a few teeth poking out of the missing flesh near his cheek. The other bather was an old elvhen woman with tired, green eyes. Hawke bowed her head, looking down at her bare feet as they passed from the cool wooden floor to the warm, steamy tile floors of the bath. The door shut softly and then soft but sure hands stripped her down and left her exposed. She stepped down and down and down. The warm water wrapped around her.

She heard another body enter with her. She looked up quickly. The older woman was opening the jars, and pouring in the oils. She was on her knees. Hawke closed her eyes and prayed that it was going to be over soon. That was not so. The man took his time.

Every inch of her was scrubbed, bathed, and shaved. She had never shaved before. She had let her leg hair grow with no thought to what others saw. She had never even touched under her arms save to wash. Even her back, well, her lower back. Her hair was washed three times, then a soothing cream was put in, then washed again. When the last bowl of sweet smelling water was poured over her to rinse her, she was so smooth she felt like a nug.

As she wiped the water from her eyes she saw, for the first time, Fenris. He had seen everything. She felt her face heat even as the man wrapped her in a soft towel and dried her off until she was smooth and dry. As they took her out to sit at the vanity, they bowed and left. Fenris was still in the bath. She looked at Jarvis and he smiled at her. She smiled back.

********

Fenris had jammed his fist into his mouth to muffle his moans. He gripped himself tightly as the image of the naked flesh which had haunted him for weeks played in his mind. Wet and smooth and clean. Oh how he wanted to strip and throw the others from the room. Hold her down and make her scream. Let the clean water become dirty with their actions. Bring her to the height of pleasure and then follow her over the edge into oblivion. He had dreamed, for she had taught him how to hide from her seeking mind, of that flesh below him, above, around.

Touching her where she had been touched before. Leaving marks on any skin he could reach and worship with his mouth. As he spilled into his hand, he could see the fluttering golden eyes, hazy with sated lust looking at him and her voice, breathless, whispering his name. He wiped his hand and his member before entering the room. The afternoon sun and the hazy light of the comet made her look like a desire demon come to life. He wanted her. By the Maker, he wanted her.

She turned and looked at him, eyes surrounded by glittering gold, her lips plump and red. He could make them red and plump. Holding them between his own as he ravished her mouth to hide her moans. No. He wanted the world to hear them. To let them know that he was the one who had brought her this pleasure. She smiled at him and he felt his heart try to fly from his chest and the heat he had cooled burn brighter in his lower belly.

********

The party would start at sundown and the guest would be at least an hour late. Which gave Malcolm, Hawke, and Nicodemus enough time to argue. Hawke hadn’t picked out a staff. She had refused to buy one or even to use the old staff her father had. This set Nicodemus off. Malcolm was set off by the state of his daughter's dress. Or rather lack thereof.

They went back and forth, ice and lighting sparking and clinking together on their fingers as they argued back and forth in Arcanum. Hawke could only stand in the middle as Malcolm paced before Nicodemus, his hands moving in jerky movements as he yelled. Nicodemus drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, the ice leaving chips of itself in the wood. Hawke looked to Fenris who only gave small, barely noticeable, shakes of his head. Whatever was being said was not something she wanted to hear then. Or should have been hearing. But Jarvis rushing in and coming to bow at their feet cut the argument off short.

The first guest had arrived. Nicodemus glared at Malcolm and pointed a stern finger at him with a growled out sentence before Jarvis rolled him away to greet the guest. Malcolm sneered at his father's back. Hawke looked at Malcolm. He gritted his teeth and his hands shook at his sides. Hawke placed a hand on his elbow and he looked at her. He gave her a smile and took off his coat and wrapped it around her body to hide it.

“To think, if I had never agreed to come, I wouldn’t have to see my oldest daughter reduced to a painted doll before my eyes.” he said as he gripped her shoulders, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Hawke gave him a hug.

“Well, at least we still have each other.”

“Yes. That’s true.”

Hawke pulled away and took off the coat, handing it back to her father, her head held high, “We don’t need him to start something. This is just for one night.”

The slave at the opening of the ball room called out, “Announcing, Magister Titus Arys, and his son, Altus Edwin.”

The two men that entered each bowed to Malcolm and Hawke, and were then handed drinks. Other guest arrived in the same way. Magisters and their sons, daughters, or even heirs that had no blood relation to them. The names of the party seemed endless to her. Boros, Marilyn, Manson, Pavus, Eramund, Danarius, Alexius, Joffrey, and Albedo. Men and women the age of her father with their spouse or favored slaves mingled and spoke to Nicodemus or her father. People a little older or the same age as her mingled with her as she nursed the same goblet of wine since being handed it after the first guest arrived.

Fenris stood just an arm's length away and right behind her. Hadriana had taken a spot at her right arm, speaking and joking as though they were good friends. Altus Arys had taken to flirting with her as well. Arys had light brown hair and a face that was not unpleasant to look upon. He was dressed to look as dashing. He wore a white silk cloak fastened at the shoulder by a golden leaf, and a spreading oak tree worked upon the breast of his tunic in a shining gold thread. All of the women around her age were dressed very much the same as her.

The silk was different colors though. Some wore silver or had on no jewelry at all. Hawke could see Danarius speaking with her father. She frowned and then let her attention once more be stolen by the petty people around her. As the small group wandered away, Hawke glanced at Hadriana out of the corner of her eye. Hawke swirled the wine in her goblet and then spoke.

“Hadriana, you’re smart. And well versed in the finer points of the senate.”

Hadriana looked at her and smiled, coy and cold, “What do you want to know?”

“How does one become a Magister?”

“By test or birth. Usually by birth though.”

“And yet,” Hawke said as she leaned against the cool pillar at her back, “you are not related at all to Danarius nor my family.”

“True.” Hadriana said and then took a sip of wine, “but he had no children and when I applied to be his apprentice I was the most qualified out of the other applicants.”

Hawke gave a slow nod of head and then turned to look right at Hadriana, “You killed them to make sure you got the position.”

Hadriana gave a tiny chuckle, turning to look at Hawke, her eyes flashing, “That is how it works. Those, like your father and you, only rise to be a Magister when the old Magister dies or steps down. And most of them die before letting go of their power. Death means that the living can know victory, lady Hawke.”

Hawke gave her a very look which sent a shiver down Hadrianas spine, “So if I kill Danarius then that means I would be saddled with you as my apprentice. It seems easier to try and kill Nicodemus. Honestly,” she said as she moved away from the pillar and set her goblet down on a tray going back to the kitchen, the slave moving like lightning through the crowd, “it seems easier to just take a quick nap and make everyone this fucking room Tranquil.”

The color drained from Hadriana, “You can’t do that.”

Hawke gave her a very pleasant smile, “It’s not like anyone could prove it was me, though. After all, I don’t know how to control my powers. Enjoy the rest of the night, Hadriana.” Fenris followed after Hawke as she made her way to the gardens. The night was bright as the comet streaked across the sky. Hawke sat down heavily on one of the stone benches, holding her head in her hand. Her hair had been curled and pinned up atop her head.

A few strands fell down to frame her face beautiful. Fenris stood. She looked up at him suddenly and moved over to make room for him. She patted the spot a few times and he looked around. No one else was near. He sat down next to her. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked up at the comet as it raced to a distant horizon that they could not fathom.

Fenris watched her.

“I’m worried.” Hawke said softly. Her voice was small and soft in the dark.

“About your family?”

She nodded her head, “I feel like something horrible is going to happen to them. I just don’t know what.”

Fenris nodded his head and then stood, before kneeling down in front of her and grasping her hands in his steel claw-tipped gauntlet covered one. She looked at him and he looked at her. He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, “Command me to go and I shall. I can make sure they safe and be back before my presence is noted to be absent.”

Hawke smiled at him, wide and wonderful, white teeth framed in red and sin. She looked around and then nodded her head, “Be careful. You’re the only friend I have here.”

Fenris felt very brave and kissed her. As he pulled away he stole away into the night, his body warm and flushed. He did not see it, but his lips were stained red. Hawke watched him vanish into the night and lifted her hand to her lips. She had never been kissed like that before. She flushed and stood, making her way back to the party. Her heart was beating very hard and fast.

*******

Fenris jumped over the wall and clung to the edge on the side of street, making sure it was clear, before dropping down onto silent feet and dashing off toward the city. Ducking into shadows and hiding in small spaces to avoid the guards. Hawke and Leandra had spoken about the spa. Fenris had seen it, once before, a pink building that always smelled sweet to him. He had learned that sweet things often hid unpleasant things under them. He was still a slave and very few slaves were allowed out once the sun set. Unless they were pleasure slaves, then they could be out at any time.

As he twisted and turned in the crowd, looking for the building Hawke had pointed out to Leandra while they had been out, he caught sight of Carver and Bethany as they kicked water at each other while in the fountain with a few other children. He made his way briskly to them. He saw something else as well. A slaver, slowly making his way to the twins. His eyes hard and cold. Hands dirty. Fenris felt his stomach drop.

Hawke had been right. He picked up the pace, trying to jog through the crowded center of the city. He spied Leandra, being spoken to by a man. Another slaver. Fenris could tell by the way he held himself. He came to the twins first. Carver saw him and smiled.

“Fenris! Is the party over?”

Bethany turned to smile at him and he caught his breath, looking for Leandra. He couldn’t see her. He looked back down at the twins. They exchanged concerned looks. He bent down to speak to them softly, for the slaver had stopped but he had not moved away. He pulled them close to him, “Hawke sent me. Something is very wrong and you need to go home; where is your mother?”

Bethany pointed over his shoulder and Fenris turned his head. Leandra was leaning heavily onto the man she had been talking too. He felt something cold fill his veins. He picked up the twins and put them on his back. They held on tightly, legs squeezing into him. He moved to follow the man who had Leandra. He heard footsteps behind him.

No slaver would risk their mark. Assuming that Nicodemus wanted them alive. As the crowd thinned, Fenris was able to keep up better. So was the person following him though. The twins shivered against him. Their small puffs of breath making his neck damp. He kept his hands under their bottoms, his feet sure and swift.

He was a slave and no slave would dare raise their voice. But Leandra was the mother of Hawke and the twins. As two Templars came down the road, the man made to turn down an alley. Fenris raised his voice, “KIDNAPPER! STOP!” The man turned to glare at him and the two Templars looked right at him. Leandra was too limp and her head too low. She was not drunk.

From a distant it would look that way, but Fenris had seen drunks carried away. The man hauled over over his shoulder and ran. The Templars gave chase and so did Fenris. Or he would have, if something didn’t wrap around his ankle and tug his legs away. He almost fell but caught himself, one leg pulled taunt from his body. The other slaver sneered at him. Fenris bent, and the twins got off of him and moved away.

He undid the metal string that was biting into his ankle. He dared a glance behind him. The twins were behind a small outcropping of stone. The doorway into the alley of a shop. Good. Fenris looked back at the slaver. He had taken out the curved sickle shaped blade and Fenris growled at him.

******

The party had gone from civil to something else. She had seen a few people sneak off only to come back with a wild look in their eyes. She didn’t want to ask and she didn’t want to know. She had tried to ask her father, but he was always speaking to someone. The Archon had sent word that he would not be coming after all. She stayed out of the way and to herself. Until the dancing started and then Danarius was there. A sick smile on his face and a hand held out to her. She glared at him and he glared right back.

“It is rude,” he said to her, “to refuse your dear family member a dance.”

She sneered at him with everything she had and slammed her hand into his. He walked with her to the dance floor and then was tugged into his embrace. She felt like worms were crawling over her body. He placed one hand on her hip and the other held her hand out to the side and slightly lifted. Her other hand was near his collarbone. She wondered if she could snap it. The song was slow and haunting as it played.

They danced in time with it. He spoke softly, so as not to draw attention to them. His breath smelled of wine, “How are you liking my little wolf, darling?”

“Why do you care?” she hissed at him.

“Oh,” he chuckled as he spun her away from him only to pull her back to him, “do I detect a note of jealousy? I can’t say that I’m surprised. The lad is quite skilled.”

She glared at him, “Shut your mouth, Danarius.”

“But I haven’t told you the best part. Did you know, that elves are very skilled in carnal pleasure? They can bend anyway they want. Flexible little things that enjoy sex very much. Fenris is very skilled in oral. He can suck for hours before his jaw begins to ache.”

Hawke tried to pull away to slap him but he held onto her with a very strong grip, “Shut up.”

He grinned at her, “Hadriana often told me that when she made him fuck her, he knew just how to twist and turn to hit every zone of pleasure. Have you done that yet? Or are you still a virgin? Waiting for a man to break you in instead of knife-ear slave with no memory?”

Hawke could feel him pressing into her from under his robes. She felt fear coil low in her belly, “Let me go!” The music was now very loud and very quick. The room seemed to be rushing by her as they danced.

“I could break you in, girl. I could break you. Then we would see who can make who Tranquil.” Danarius said as he leaned down to whisper into her ear and then he licked the outer shell of her ear. Hawke felt her mind go blank. She summoned her magic into her hand smashed to her chest, just under his collar bone. She slammed it into him and sent him flying away from her.

She was shaking in fear as he stood, anger clear on his face. Blood magic calling forth demons. Everyone had moved away to watch. The music was still playing. She looked around for her father and couldn’t see him. She looked back at Danarius. He wiped away the blood dripping from his nose.

******

Fenris ducked and took a swipe with his gauntlets at the slaver. The slaver cursed and tried to kick Fenris in the side. Fenris caught his leg and flipped him on the pavement painfully. The blade fell away into the dark and the slaver twisted to grab at Fenris and pull him down. Fenris dropped his leg instead. The slaver tripped him and Fenris fell onto his back with a rush of air leaving him. The slaver was then on him, hands wrapped tightly around his neck. Fenris tried to push him away but the slaver was very heavy. The slaver sneered down at him, “Any last words?”

“L-look away.” he gasped out.

The slaver gave a cruel laugh that turned into a gurgle. Fenris reached and reached until he could feel the heart beating against his fingers, for the metal was not felt when he became a ghost of lyrium. He pushed them into the soft flesh and then tugged it out and out and out. The blood fell onto his face and the slaver fell over dead. Fenris pushed him aside, his whole word dizzy. He looked down at the heart still clutched like a bloody prize in his hands. He threw it at the slaver and climbed to his feet on shaking legs.

He looked for the twins. Pressed into the wall, hands over their eyes. He wiped off his hands and face as best as he could and went to them. They looked at him like how they looked at Hawke. Something to be feared but knowing that they would never suffer under the hands of the dangerous things that loved them too much. They climbed back onto his back, their heat welcome, and Fenris once more chased after the Templars and Leandra. He prayed that Hawke was alright.

********

The barrier would not hold for long. The demons slammed and punched at it. She had to think. Danarius looked at her, a smirk on his face. She glared out at him even as the barrier around her shivered in pain. She looked at her hands. She had no staff and she wouldn’t cast with no guarantee of the others safety in the room.

She sat down on the floor, crossed her legs and held her hands together tightly, closing her eyes and letting her breathing even out. She had only done this once. And she had almost died once doing this. She entered the Fade with a gasp and a stumble. She looked around and then saw him. Danarius, his mana and magic, floating in front of her. She imaged a sword, a wicked two handed thing.

Like how she had gotten for Fenris. She could feel her heart slowing down and her barrier failing her. She had to finish it. She moved like a half-dead thing toward the light and raised the sword high above her head. She should have felt sorry for doing this. But she didn’t. The sword came down and the light shrieked and cried out as it was cut into tiny pieces.

Little orbs of it flew away and away and then there was nothing. She jerked herself back to her body, to see a clawed hand of a demon stop and turn to dust in front of her eyes. Danarius was on the other side of the room, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. Staff forgotten on the floor. She felt something drip onto her chest. She wiped at her nose. Black blood.

She got to her feet, shaking, her stomach in knots. Someone shook Danarius and he did nothing. They waved a hand of magic over him and jerked back as though struck. They hissed out, “He’s Tranquil! She killed him in the Fade.”

The whole room looked at her. She looked at them.

“Welcome,” Nicodemus said with a smile as he walked(WALKED, no, he could never before) to Hawke and held up one of her limp hands into the air, “Magister Hawke! A toast! But let us also mourn, the passing of my son, Malcolm. He used his magic to cure me, to let me walk again. A toast to him, a good man and a good father. May he rest in peace forever more.”  

The whole room raised their cups to her and she felt sick. She bent over and let the blood splash onto the floor before the darkness took her. 


	6. Altus Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who killed Malcolm Hawke?

Joshua Sylveria was a butcher's son, and he laughed like a man chopping meat.

“More wine?” Nicodemus asked him.

“I should not object,” Magister _(HA! A stupid fool with too much luck to earn the title of Magister and yet, this butcher’s son was a Magister while his somniari grandchild was still an Atlus)_ Sylveria said, holding out his cup. He was built like a keg, and he drank like he trying to fill the ocean, and Nicodemus hoped his stomach burst before the night was out. “I should not object at all. That’s a fine red wine you have, Nicodemus. From Neverra?”

“Antivin.” Nicodemus gestured, and his slave, Jarvis, poured. But for the slaves, he and Magister Sylveria were alone in the small eating area located in his room. Hawke was a powerful name and with that power came the ability to do anything one could. So long as you never got caught. And Nicodemus had never gotten caught. He smiled as he spoke, “Quite the find since Antivin wines are not often so rich to the pallet.”

“Rich,” said the big pig-faced man, taking a healthy gulp. He was not a man for sipping. Nicodemus had made note of that at once. “Yes, rich, that’s the _very_ word I was searching for, the very word indeed! You have a gift for words, Magister Hawke, if I might say so. And you can spin a _wonderful_ tale to these drunken ears.”

“I’m pleased you think so. And please, call me Nicodemus.”

“As you wish.” he took another swallow, wine spilling from the corners of his mouth and landing on the front of his black satin doublet. He was wearing a cloth-of-diamond half cape with a miniature spear, its point enamelled in dark blue. He was well and truly drunk. Nicodemus covered his mouth to stop himself from snapping at this pig in satin across from him. Unlike Magister Sylveria he had gone easy on the wine so his mind would stay sharp. He made sure that this man would not question him when he asked for his favor.

So he had made sure that this man was given rich food and rich wine(which his son and his family ate with a look of fear or angry on their faces) so his speech was free and easy.  This evening they had eaten  oxtail soup, summer and early fall greens tossed with pecans, grapes, fennel that had been imported from Orlais, and a crumbled cheese that had been left to mold. Hot crab and lobster pies with spiced squash and quails that had been drowned in cinnamon butter. Each dish had come with its own wine. Red and white. Summer and pink. Sweet and tart.

Magister Sylveria had told him that he had eaten like this when he had been an Altus but he had been too busy since coming into the Magisterium. Nicodemus only nodded his head and said that in his old age, he was not worried about dying from overworking. Not when his son and granddaughters would pick up where he left off. Sylveria had laughed and said that he doubted it. Malcolm was still too kind hearted to be like Nicodemus. Nicodemus had know this since the first time Malcolm had tried to argue with him on “slave” rights. As if slaves needed rights.

“No doubt things will change when our grandchildren take our places.” Nicodemus said and Sylveria chuckled.

“For a certainty. Perhaps I should ask your granddaughter to be my Atlus, what would you say to that, Nicodemus?”

“Wars have been fought over less,” he answered and they both shared a good long laugh, “You are a bold man to take your seat in Solas instead of the seat that former Magister Tolkien left for you here in Minrathous. Such a grim place and so very _costly_ to maintain order. So close to the desert and so far away from so much. Some even say that former elvhen city is haunted by the dead slaves who rebelled there sixty years ago.”

“I should fear a pile of stones and dead bones long since burnt to ash?” Sylveria hooted at the notion, “A bold man you said. _You_ must be bold to welcome back your blacklisted son and his dog lord children and Kirkwall whore of a wife. To Solas, yes! And why not when it is a small city where all of this backstabbing is few and far between. I sense you are a bold man as well, Nicodemus, but in a much smaller way.”

Nicodemus wanted to crush this man before him and his smile was very tight as he said, “You are too kind. More wine?”

“No. No, truly, I...fuck it. Why not? A bold man drinks his fill doesn’t he?”

“Truly.” Nicodemus said with a click of his tongue, “I have been glancing over the list of names you put forward to take your seat here in Minrathous since you are leaving for Solas to take a seat in their Senate.”

“Good men and women. Any of the seven will do, but I’d choose Tyrion Mathers. He was my right arm. Pick him and you won’t be sorry. So long as he pleases the Senate. And the Archon.”

Nicodemus took a sip of his own wine, “To be sure. I have been considering Balon Bywater to take your place. He’s been an Atlus for over ten years and has never left his mother's side to become an apprentice to any other Magister. The Archon was given a few well loved slaves by him. _And yet_ his name doesn’t appear on your list.”

Sylveria took a large gulp of his wine and swished it around his mouth for a long moment before he answered, “Bywater. A queer dog if I had ever seen one. You’ll do better to leave that man where he chooses to lie. Tyrion Mathers, he is the man you need in the Senate.”

“Mathers is not loved by his peers, or so I am told.” Nicodemus can feel a cruel smile cross his face. Sylveria gives him a long, stern look. Nicodemus has played this game for much longer and this look doesn’t even phase him.

“He is feared, Nicodemus. That’s better when one is trying to **KEEP** their seat in the Senate.”

Nicodemus leans back in his chair, the smile still on his face, folding his hands in front of him as his elbows on the arms of his chair, “What was it that I heard of him? Some trouble in an _elvhen_ brothel?”

Sylveria pales and takes more wine, but he schools his face into a calm anger, “That was not his fault, Nicodemus. He never meant to kill that woman, that was her own doing. He warned her to stand aside and let him do as he paid for.”

“Still,” Nicodemus coos, “ _mothers and children_. Such a messy business. He must have expected that she would try to save her child and babe.” He waves for more wine and it comes in a heartbeat, “Have some of this cheese, it goes splendidly with the wine. Tell me, why did you choose Mathers for your seat?”

Sylveria glares at him, finally, and asks in a hushed voice, “What do you want, Magister Hawke? What must I do to keep you from speaking?”

Nicodemus smiles, wide and full of teeth, “My daughter-in-law and her younger children will be going on a little trip at the end of this week. I want to make sure that their trip is a very, _very_ , memorable one.”

“How memorable?”

“The kind that will wake them up in the middle of the night.”

Sylveria nods his head, “Anything else, Hawke?”

“My son will be helping me to get my legs back. I do know that your wife, bless that poor woman's soul, is the one who helps prepare the dead. Will she be busy this week?”

“No.”

Sylveria leaves with sweaty palms and a full bully. Nicodemus turns to look at Jarvis who stands at the ready to serve him. He snaps his fingers and Jarvis is on his knees, head bowed.

“This one lives to serve.” Jarvis says with a sigh as Nicodemus pets his ears.

“Good. Because this week is very important to me. At the party, you will need to make sure that Malcolm is not near his daughter. I have plans for her.”

“This one is always happy to serve.”

Nicodemus reaches into his robe and pulls out his favored dagger, running the tip under the eye of his favorite slave. Jarvis doesn’t flinch. Nicodemus hands the dagger to him and Jarvis holds it in front of him like a holy relic. Nicodemus kisses him deeply, stroking his cheek as he does so before pushing his face down into his lap, “My son will die none the wiser, Jarvis. _**Make it clean**_.” 


	7. The Circle of Magi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't hope for more than you can handle.

Fenris caught up to the Templars as one removed his sword from the slaver and the other was trying to wake Leandra. When they saw him they nodded their heads as the twins dropped from his back and ran to their mother, screaming and crying at her to wake up. She was woozy as she opened her eyes and upon seeing the twins she crushed them to her chest, sobbing herself. Fenris watched them, catching his breath. The Templars asked Leandra about him, and she answered with a sluggish tongue. As they were cleared of having a slave out past their curfew he helped her back home. The twins clung to his legs as Leandra used him as a crutch. 

They went as quickly as they could, with a Templar escort. They came back to the mansion as the sun broke the horizon. Hawke was on the front steps, the front of her gown bloody along with the lower half of her face. She was drinking a heavy wine straight from the bottle. She had been crying. Leandra saw her daughter and was placed next to her. Hawke handed her the bottle. 

Leandra gave her a long look before Hawke spoke. 

“Father is dead.” Hawke told them. Leandra wouldn’t hear it and went into the house, storming away with the bottle in her hand. The twins sat next to their sister, lacing their heads in her bloody lap. She looked at Fenris then, eyes haunted and tired with little sleep and too much magic used. She reached for his hand and he gave it to her, “Danarius is dead, too. You’re free, Fenris. I’m a magister now and I can free you. Even if I couldn’t save my father, I can at least do one thing right; I can free you, at the very least.” 

The sound of Leandra's mournful scream and the sound of a smashing bottle could be heard. Hawke didn’t even turn her head but the twins jerked her head up and looked at the slightly open door. Fenris didn’t know what would happen after this. He knew it wasn’t going to be a good thing though. The funeral happened a week after the fact. Hawke was officially granted a seat in the senate three days after his funeral. They moved out by the end of the month into a new mansion near the sea. 

Jarvis was given as a gift by Nicodemus. Hawke freed every slave that Danarius had, freed Jarvis, and even him. But with her new power came a new danger. Bethany was old enough to go to a Circle of Magi, and it was a law for all mage children. Nothing was going to change that, no matter how much Leandra tried to argue with Hawke on it. All she could do was go with her sister to be dropped off at the Circle of Magi in Minrathous. Fenris went with Hawke, for his place as at her side. 

He was a free man after all. A free man could go and do anything he wished. She even paid all of her freed slaves. They didn’t seem to know what to do with their new freedoms and new money. She let them do as they pleased. Carver was not pleased that Bethany was going to a school for mages only. A school in which she would not be returning home until the mid-year break. 

And only then she would be home for only a few short weeks before going back. She would come back for the winter holidays and then back once more. Eight years or more of going back and forth. Hawke and Bethany walked together, holding hands as they made their way to towering spire of the Circle of Magi. Slaves often dropped off their young masters, Magisters having little to no interest in their offsprings affairs so far from home. Unless it made the family name less than desirable. Bethany was not happy but understood that there was nothing her sister or mother could do. 

The fresh wound of her father's death still clung to them all. They mostly stayed silent as they walked in the summer heat. Fenris stayed next to Hawke as they walked. 

“Dad went to this school.” Hawke said at last.

“I’m scared.” Bethany admitted at last. Hawke nodded her head and then stopped walking, got down to her knees and looked at Bethany in the eye. Bethany had unshed tears clinging to her dark lashes, and Hawke gave her a smile, wiping the water from them. 

“You know what?” 

“What?” 

“Fenris will be with you.” 

Fenris jerked at this. He knew that one slave was allowed to go with the child to the Circle, but he had thought that Hawke would send someone else, not him. He was suppose to stay with Hawke, not her younger sister. Even Bethany looked shocked at this news. 

“Why? He wants to stay with you.” 

Hawke nodded her head, “I know. Fenris loves me, and I love him. But I won’t sleep at night if I don’t know you’re safe. And I know you’d be safe if you were with him.” 

Bethany shook her head, her pigtails flying, “No! Fenris loves you and can make sure that what happened to daddy doesn’t happen to you! We can’t stay at this horrible place for so long, he won’t be treated right!” 

Hawke stood and gave him a quizzical look and then looked at Bethany, “Sweetheart, you’re only staying for the week. You and Fenris are coming home on the weekends. The law says that you have to go to a Circle of Magi. It doesn’t say that you have to stay on campus all eight years.” 

Bethany flung herself into her sister's arms, kissing her and telling her thank you, over and over again. Fenris also felt himself feel relief. For the next week, Bethany and he, along with other slaves(who were not free like him, thus labeling him as an outsider to them), went to classes and stayed in a temporary dorm. She loved it all. She met so many friends and learnt so much. Half of what she talked to him about as he helped her get ready for bed went over his head. She was very bright. 

She even found out that he couldn’t read. She said to ask Hawke to teach him. He said he couldn’t. She had given him a very stern look and told him that Hawke loved him no matter what. Learning to read wasn’t going to chance any of that. When they left on the final day of the week, Hawke was there with Carver to pick them up. She took them to a nice little cafe she had found and they ate a meal of desserts and sweets. Leandra was not to find out. 

As they went home, the twins held hands, talking to each other and telling each other all they had learned while separated. Hawke held his hand as they walked. Her hand was so warm in his. He held her hand tightly. Leandra and the twins played with each other until sleep called to them. He went with Hawke to her room and she kissed him. Shyly and sweetly.

He held her close and pushed into her mouth to devour the sweet taste of cream and sugar from their supper. He devoured her all night long, her whimpers into his neck like a song. Her nails left marks that ran side by side his lyrium. Even in the land of dreams he curled around her. Her skin was soft under his hand and everything felt wonderful. Every time they came back from the Circle of Magi the first night back was always like that. The next day would be to learn how to read. 

His life felt so wonderful and he hoped that this was what the end of his days would be like when he died. He should have know better than to hope for that. Hawke was teaching him and a few others to read when a messenger came to the door. A marriage proposal for her and for Bethany. Fenris had never seen her look so shocked nor had he felt his heart break. She was better than him. 


	8. No, Carver.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does this hurt?   
> Because it was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should not watch BoTFA while writing a tragic love story. Shit got real fast, yo. Sorry about that.

Carver had been the only boy into a family of women. This was a fact that he knew without doubt. Hawke was the oldest and she was a mage and she tried her best even when he didn’t like the things she said or did for him. He still loved her and he did appreciate those things, but he was basically ten, and ten year olds were hard to understand because everything was changing all at once. Carver also knew this was a fact and he shouldn’t doubt this as well. He knew that Bethany liked boys with dark hair and blue eyes. Why he didn’t know but he this to be a fact as well. Hawke liked elves, a fact that he(and Bethany) knew and never said anything about because, no one needed to know what their oldest sister liked. 

For the record, Hawke liked boys and girls, and she wasn’t confused. She just happened to love Fenris and Fenris just happened to be a boy. This was a fact as well. The fact that his sisters had to get married because the laws here were weird, was a fact didn’t have to like at all. So at breakfast the second day that Bethany and Fenris were home, when Hawke told them all of the letters she was given, Carver threw down his silverware and stormed out. His mother called out to him as did Hawke but he didn’t stop until he was outside and had his training sword. He beat the bushes in the backyard, and no, he wasn’t crying. 

When a branch hit him in the eye he growled at it and threw his sword to the dirt and sat down in a huff. He rubbed at his eyes. He felt someone sit next to him. He looked up, the eye that had taken the brunt of the branch stating closed. Bethany smiled at him and held up her hands, bathed in blue. She healed his eye and he hugged her tight when it was done. She hugged him back just as hard. 

He buried his head in between her shoulder and her neck, her hair hiding his tear stained face. She tried to do that side-to-side rocking thing Hawke and Leandra did. It was a good attempt but it wasn’t the same at all.

“It’ll be okay, Carver. I’m sure that...well, I hope that this Felix chap is nice enough.” Bethany tells him as she does her said rocking.

“You don’t even know his name.” Carver sniffed.

“I do. If you had stayed you would have too. His name is Felix Alexius and Hawke had met his father. She thinks he is a nice enough man. She’s never met Felix, but if he is like his father, then he would be very nice to me.”

“You should marry someone you like. Hawke should marry Fenris and who should marry some stupid prince.” Carver said as he moved away from his sister and flopped down on his back to glare up at the sky. Bethany looked over him, hands on either side of his head.

“Carver, that isn’t how thing work here. Hawke will marry an Altus named Pavus and I’ll marry Felix. Even if we can’t love each other, at least we can try to be friends.”

Carver frowned at her, “How old is this Pavus Altus?”

Bethany rolled her eyes, “A little older than us, and besides...we won’t be married until one of us at least 22. That’s how old you have to be anyway.”

“We could run away.” Carver tells her softly as he wipes his sore eyes with the heels of his hand, “We could leave with mother and Fenris and the others. Go to Kirkwall and try to find our Uncle that lives there. Hawke could stop being so important and run away. No one would be mad at her for doing that. It can’t be that hard, right?”

“How would we get across the sea?”

“That pirate who brought us here. She said that she would take again. If we find her we could do it! We could leave!” Carver said and sat up to look at Bethany. Bethany sat back on her shins and then shook her head at him.

“No, Carver. If Hawke leaves now they’ll send headhunters after her. Mother and you could leave, Hawke might even send Fenris with the two of you so he could be free, but we can’t. Power is a set of chains, and we can’t tear ours off. I’m sorry.” she told him as she stood up and went back inside. Carver knew for a fact that Hawke would never do that. Even if Bethany told her, Hawke would never send them away. A month later, Hawke walked them all down to the docks and waiting for them was the pirate who brought them to Tevinter.

Leandra wouldn't look at Hawke. Leandra held his hand tightly as she dragged him onto the ship. He cried for Bethany and Hawke. Bethany hid her face in the folds of Hawke's robe. Hawke didn’t look at them. As Fenris helped them settle into the cabin the ship set sail and Fenris looked so betrayed. As he cried himself to sleep he heard his mother tell Fenris, “It’s because she loves us more than she loves herself. In Kirkwall we have a home from before I married Malcolm. She asked me to make sure you were taken care of. She’s loves you so much, Fenris.”

Fenris answered, his voice rough with unshed tears, “Do you know, that once I was told you can’t love someone until you love yourself?”

“I have heard that as well.” 

Fenris scoffed, “That is a lie. I have never loved myself. But her...Maker...I loved her more than I could possibly say.” 

“I know that kind of love, Fenris. It hurts, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes.” he whispered.

“Then that means it was real. And the pain is real, because love is pain. It’ll never go away, and all your memories of her, will be bittersweet. But you’ll still love them too, because it’ll be all you have of her. I’m sorry, Fenris.” 


	9. Pavus and Alexius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is never far from their minds.

Magister Pavus was a striking man with dark skin and grey eyes. A hooked nose with a smile like honey. Alexius was much the same, only a little older and a much happier. His skin was not so tan. Bethany and Felix were in the gardens, walking and talking to each other. Bethany had her head ducked and Felix had a harsh blush on his face. Hawke was happy that at least Felix was kind to her sister. 

He looked at her like how Fenris used to gaze at her. The eyes never looking anywhere else, only at her face. As though the great knowledge of all that was and ever would be was written in her eyes, he just had keep looking at her long enough to find it and he would never tire of looking. Dorian, as Halward Pavus informed her when they arrived for lunch, was still at his circle and would not be back in Minrathous for another two weeks or so. Hawke said it was alright. She didn’t mind if she never met him. Her heart would always belong to Fenris, even if she could never be with him. 

She sipped at her tea softly as they spoke of the now vacant seat in the senate and how her Grandfather was trying to rile up supporters for a man who didn’t deserve the seat. A blood mage. She made a snippy remark that the whole world assumed every mage from Tevinter was a blood mage, personal feelings be damned. This caused they both to chuckle in agreement. She traced the floral patterns in the lace table cloth with her fingernails, her mind wandering. Her father death had been no accident, and she knew it. She had brought it to both Pavus and Alexius and they even agreed. 

Malcolm Hawke was not as young as his daughter, but he was no older than them. Unless he had a pressing health issue he would not agree to a blood ritual, much less one in which his father would suddenly be healed. Everything about the whole thing was suspect, but without proof, she could not take him before the senate to be tried for the murder of her father. As Felix and Bethany sat down on a bench to feed the many brightly colored peacocks of the Pavus estate, Alexius set down his teacup with a look on his face. It reminded her of her father when he was worried. She set her own cup down and folded her hands in front of her. 

“Something wrong?” she asked. He looked at his son and Bethany and then back at Hawke. He gave her a very sad smile. 

“Felix is a lad of poor health, lady Hawke. I wanted to tell you sooner, but he was so excited to be meeting a woman who had killed that monster, Danarius. When I told him of your sister and the prospect of marriage, he said I should tell you and your sister. No reason to marry when he might be ill the whole of his life.”

“He will still gain your seat in the senate, Alexius.” Pavus said as he took a small cookie from the plate in the middle of the table, “I have known him since he was a child. While he had been ill, he has a mind like a steel trap.” 

“Felix might not live long enough to take your seat.” Hawke said bluntly and Alexius gave a small flinch, “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but thank you for telling me. If Bethany won’t marry him, at least she will have a friend she might grow to trust.” 

“Dorian speaks highly of Felix. Many of the Altus do. He is a good boy.” Pavus says softly. 

“I wonder,” Hawke says and then cups the tea in its fine china bone cup between her hands, the warmth flooding into them, “if any of that will matter if we go back into an all out war with the Qunari.” 

Pavus and Alexius both look at each other and then take sips of their tea or a bite of their snack before Alexius speaks, “You speak of the rumors of the rogue Qunari mages defecting from the Qun and joining the native elf populace on Seheron.” 

“The Fog Warriors.” Pavus says and places his half-eaten cookie on his plate, “The elf populace was first seen by the Qunari and then our troops later when the island was seen a potential expansion point for the Imperium.” 

“Would we be asked to fight?” Hawke asked as she refilled her tea and added the sugar into it along with a large spoon of honey. 

Alexius chuckles, “You might, lady Hawke. Both myself and Halward served three tours in our youth, one more than is required when the Imperium goes to war. It earned us medals of honor and proved our loyalty to our country.” 

“What does that do?” 

“We may leave the Imperium without any spies following.” Pavus says with a sniff, “Or with an assassin waiting in the shadows to kill us. Dorian will serve at least two tours. Navy. Like I did. What did you do Alexius?” 

“I was a ground troop. The sea never agreed with me and I with it.” Alexius said with a chuckle.

Hawke asked, “Does that mean your children never have serve two tours?” 

Pavus shook his head, “They do have to serve two tours, but they can leave the country before them. Our honor and valor in battle extends to them. Dorian can leave anytime he wants to, and so long as he never sells his birthright, he can come back anytime he wishes.” 

“Pavus,” Alexius said with a tutting noise, “speak plainly. He means that even if Dorian did sell his birthright, or even Felix for that matter, as long as we never disown them, they can come and go as they please. It would just be a matter of public debate over their loyalty is all.” 

Hawke only gave a sip of her tea in answer. As they went home, Bethany spoke of how nice and how much of a gentleman Felix was. She was sad that he was sick, and that he wasn’t good at magic. Hawke only nodded her head. She sent a letter first thing in the morning, asking to be sent to Seheron for her first tour of duty for her country.


	10. Seheron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is different for everyone.

The other Fog Warriors gave no credit to the drunken gibberish of their cowardly novice. They had assumed she had succumbed to panic at the threat of war. Immediate war, local war. You could smell it in the air, like laundry soap, or an ailment. From the occasional evacuee who stopped to water his horses, Hospitality gleaned what news she could. She shared what she what she had learned. By late spring, the four main sections of Seheron were broken up between the fighting factions. 

Tevinter to the south, the Qunari to the north, they had the west and the east was home to Tal-Vashoth. The six main squads of Tevinter soldiers massed on the north bank of the river. Conscription into the ranks of the Qunari had thinned out the countryside of its farmhands, and the the Tevinter General, Straw-Water, had sent men out to assist in harvesting any type of food they could. The towns under Tevinter rule were then requisitioned most of what it had gathered as a fee for helping out. It was a less than subtle way of saying that so long as the towns under Tevinter rule stayed that way, then any and all food would be given with every ounce of anger and ill-kept feeling that they could.

“Indeed, tavern owners are said to be bricking up the better ale behind false walls,” Hospitality said to the newest member of their tribe. A young elvhen man with white hair and sea-foam green eyes. He glowed, “Their wives eavesdrop on tipsy officers and gossip over conflicting rumors. No one is sure of anything. Is the army from Tevinter constructing an underground canal into the larger city of Munich, to leech the great lake water? Are the Qunari making a new weapon, is it being perfected upriver that will make an invading army invincible? Are these maneuvers merely war games to intimidate the local natives like us into making concessions?” 

The glowing young man looked at her, eyes tired and full of a silent rage, “I do not mean to be rude, but these little rumors mean nothing to me. I am here to find someone. Then I will be gone.”

She sneered at him, “The mood of the season, boy. Pray for peace but hide all you hold dear and send your children away if you can.” The other Fog Warriors, older than her, nodded their heads. They had seen the island in war before. The Qunari never left and those from Tevinter came and went.

******

Hawke was sitting under a tent canopy, re-doing the knots on her staff, the sun beating down on her bare shoulders because of the thin material it was made of. She could feel the skin starting to blister but she didn’t much care. She had too much to think about. Bethany had made it to Kirkwall from the school Hawke had sent her to in Orlais. Her grandfather had been truly angry at the fact that she was off to fight on Seheron and that Bethany was going out of the country to learn in a school he didn’t approve of. Hawke didn’t care at all. She and Bethany had a plan and the plan had gone off without a hitch. 

So long as Hawke didn’t die in battle, she could go to Orlais to pick up Bethany and then run to Kirkwall. She had sent all of her “slaves” with Bethany and after she had gotten to Kirkwall they had all been given large sums of money and told to leave. The last letter—written in code like how Hawke taught her—told her that Orana, a young slave Bethany had befriended, and her father, had not left the Amell estate. And that mother missed her. Hawke doubted that. Carver was trying to get into the local guard. Hawke hoped that he would. 

What worried her was that Bethany had written that Fenris had left a week after mother and Carver had gotten back to Kirkwall and they didn’t know where he had gone. That worried Hawke. She took out her whetstone to sharpen the blade at the end of her staff. Two other mages came to hide from the heat but not the sun under the tent canopy. A man and a woman with red hair. Twins maybe. They were talking as though she wasn’t there. 

“We’ve no reason to fear either army,” the man said, “three weeks ago, when the Fog Warriors swept by, making their inept preemptive strike into the loyal cities of the Imperium, they didn’t stop to rape or plunder us as they passed. They hoped to wreak havoc on the Archon’s forces massing to the east, but it appears the upstarts have managed only to wreak a spot of bother. Sister, be sensible! They are now in a full retreat, fleeing for their lives. They’ll be too distracted to drop in for refreshment while they’re being pushed back to their own borders. So lighten up!”

Hawke wanted to laugh. The city they had made into their base of operations was known by the locals as Saint Shale, located in the Gilded Meadows, it was a city meant to be remote from worldly concerns, every building looking like a sycamore trying to camouflage itself in the seafoam to the south and dead lands to the east. An exceedingly prominent target for both armies they were fighting. This was the only city that they hadn’t tried to burn down, and thus it was the only city with anything worth fighting for. It was the only city that had a vast store of food. 

“Of course they will,” the sister said sharply, “we are the exemplars of mercy. We set the standard, and an army has a no choice but to respect our standards.” Hawke wanted to laugh out loud at that, but only managed a slight scoff and got up, tucking her whetstone into her boot as she stood. Men were beasts. Everyone knew that, and if they didn’t then they would in time. It’s why most of the women who got into the army left it more jaded than when they got in. She went to the little building that doubled as the mess hall. 

Dinner conversations revolved around nothing but military operations. Soon enough she was on her hammock, watching the stars. She missed Fenris, his body resting along her back. She missed how he used to sleep with one leg thrown over her hip. She missed him, her mother, the twins, everything.


	11. State of dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris never wanted to lose her.

Nicodemus drummed his fingers as he sat in his boat on the coast. He was meeting with The Shadow, who knew everything about everyone. Even when they didn’t know he knew. Or she. No one had ever seen the face or body of The Shadow. But The Shadow was here, on his boat, standing over the brazier, warming his hands, “It would appear that Felix Alexius has gotten the Blight, and his bride to be, your granddaughter, Bethany, is at a school in Orlias. Or so the other grandchild, Hawke, would have you believe.”

“By whose hand did that boy get the Blight?” Nicodemus asked with one raised eyebrow. He already knew that his oldest grandchild had lied to him, but they were far from his reach. For the moment, they were far from his reach. 

The pale bone mask pulled into a mocking smile and painted with red tears on the eyes turned to look at him, black cloak pulled tightly over the tall figure who stood mostly in shadow, hands covered by thick black leather gloves, “Have you ever considered that too many answers are the same as no answer at all? My informants are always as highly placed as I would like. When an Altus is all but dead, fancies of all kids grow like deadly mushrooms in the dark.” 

Nicodemus scowled at The Shadow, “If you can not give me more than a warning, then I have no use for you.”

The Shadow chuckled, “I didn’t say that. All I know is that there are many a rumor about the death of the Lady Alexius and the sickness of Felix. One such rumor even blames Magister Hawke for this foul deed.” 

“Must you waste our time with every rumor that is given life?” Magister Aegis Pavus sneered. The very distant cousin of Halward Pavus and who felt he deserved to marry Bernadette Hawke. 

“I am well payed for these rumors, young lord.” The Shadow said, voice only slightly hinting at sarcasm. Nicodemus sighed heavily. 

“You are paid to tell us the truth,” he said, “nothing more. You would do well to remember that the next time you speak.”

The Shadow gave a large laugh and moved to sit down, “And you would do well to remember that I know what happened to your son and why his daughters, wife and own male child, are no longer in the Imperium.” 

Nicodemus grit his teeth and Aegis snapped at the Shadow, “Hold your tongue! Malcolm Hawke was weak and the only good thing he did in his life was produce two mage children, one of which is a long awaited Dreamer.” 

“And what lies behind her calm and slack face? What lies beneath that patina of civility? I would wager something wicked.” The Shadow said and then flicked his wrist, “But that is not why you called me here. In answer to your question, she is still alive, but not for long.” 

“Why?” 

The Shadow gave a very nonchalant shrug, “Her platoon is going for a Qunari outpost, that rumor has it where they train their mages.” 

“So?” Aegis asked. 

“Not all mages are made equal.” The Shadow said. 

**********

Fenris had dreamt about her since he had been pushed away from her side. The way she smiled, all teeth and pulled back lips, trying to cover up the little snort she would give when something would make her laugh. The way her eyes would sparkle when she would be reading. The feel of her soft hands on his face. He had been alone in his dreams, only a phantom pain of the love he had lost with him, for many weeks. Until everything changed. The dream changed. 

She was there, really there, in his dreams that night. She looked at him and he looked at her and for one moment it didn’t even seem real. He reached toward her and when his skin met hers it was like life had been given back to him. He grabbed her and hugged her harshly, kissing every inch of her face and neck that he could reach before kissing her fully on the lips. She held him just as harshly to her and they fell to the ground, tangled in each other. The wonderful thing about dreams was that everything was too quick and too slow at the same time. He loved on her as quickly as a dying man took his last breath in the ocean. 

He loved her as slowly as a newborn babe blinked its eyes for the first time. She mouthed his name in his ear over and over and over again. He held her hips in a grip that would have left black bruises in the real world. As they caught their breath as pet his back, her nails moving along his spine, the lyrium lines on his skin lighting up like fireflies in her wake. He didn’t move from atop her and she didn’t tell him to remove himself for her inner passage. She kissed his temple and he kissed her collarbone. He had missed her so much. When he awoke he knew it was a dream, a wonderful and pleasant dream born from depression and desperation. 

He didn’t try to dream about her again, he didn’t sleep for a long time. The Fog Warriors went on many raids, taking those who wanted to be saved, killing mages and Qunari alike. Some Qunari went with them. They were few and far between. They taught him their language and he learned it. When he finally slept again, three days later and so, so tired, he dreamt of her again.

She looked at him and smiled, “I thought you were a demon, but I know the difference now. No demon would love me like you do.” 

“Why did you leave me?” 

She looked away from him then, not meeting his eyes when she spoke, “It wasn’t safe for you. Or Mother, Carver. Not even Bethany. So I had to think of a way to get you out. Mother and Carver could leave, they were not mages and no one was looking too closely at them yet. But Bethany and I? We couldn’t leave, not without that horrid man trying to follow us.” 

“Your grandfather.” 

“It took a while, but I figured out how to escape him, escape Tevinter. I sent Bethany away to Orlias, I came here to fight in the war.” 

Fernis was shocked, “You’re in Seheron?” 

Hawke turned to look at him, “I am. My platoon leaves at first light for a Qunari outpost.” 

Fenris came to stand in front of her and moved her hair away from his face, “I could have protected you. You shouldn’t be here in this hell.” 

Hawke gave a small laugh, “I had to go to hell to leave hell. I had hoped that everyone I loved was safe while I fight for my life.” 

“Your mother and brother are safe, before I left Kirkwall I made sure of that. Your mother is using the money you gave her to pay off a debt of your uncles to keep the estate. Your brother is trying to enter to city guard.” 

“Just like Carver.” Hawke said with a chuckle, “Bethany wants to open a bookstore. She would be good at that.” 

“What about you?” 

“I should ask you that.”

“If I tell you the truth,” he said softly, “will you tell me the truth?” 

She kissed him, “Yes.” 

“I want to be happy.” he said, “I want to be happy and I want you to be happy.” 

Hawke smiled, “I want to be happy with you.” 

“Even when I make you angry? Or sad?” 

“When have you ever?” she asked and then kissed him deeply. He held her tightly. They fell into each again. He hoped to never lose her.

**********

Nicodemus sneered at The Shadow, “Why should this worry me?” 

“That outpost has been there since we landed on Seheron.” The Shadow said, “It has never been lost. The Qunari have held that outpost above all others. We have never taken it, and we have lost many to it.”

Aegis scoffed, “She won’t go.” 

“Yes,” Nicodemus said softly, “She will. She doesn’t know that the Qunari are never going to let us have their oldest outpost.” 

The Shadow stood from his spot and took out a map from where he had tucked it into his cloak. He spread it out on the table, a detailed map of Seheron and then pointed to the outpost where Hawke had been sent to and the outpost that they were trying to take, “There is fighting between here and Bitterbridge. And you can be certain that the Arishok will be dispatching his own shepherds to gather in the wayward sheep of Seheron.”

“I’ve never been frightened of shepherds,” Nicodemus muttered, “It’s the sheep who have always troubled me.” 

Aegis stood in a flurry of movement, “I can spare a hundred men to go and bring her home before they attack that foul outpost.” 

Nicodemus turned to him, a scowl on his old face, “You will send all five hundred of your hired thugs, boy.” 

Aegis glared at him, “Three hundred.” 

“In the middle of a war?” The Shadow asked. 

“You have a point. With Malcolm dead you are under an investigation as it is by the Archon himself. We must tread carefully here. ” Aegis sighed and sat down once more. 

The Shadow inclined his head, “Indeed. Malcolm is dead and neither Bernadette nor his wife, Leandra will have forgotten how he was in life, nor how quickly he left his mortal coil. She will not come to you willing, Nicodemus. Nor you, Aegis.”

Nicodemus folded his fingers together and leaned back in his chair, “Do you have something in mind?” 

The Shadow nodded his head, “I have an idea. You might like it.”

*****

As they stormed the Qunari outpost he thought of her. The soft texture of her hair. The split ends that would catch the light. How it smelled of sunflowers and the ocean when he had his face pressed into it. How it would wave at him as he followed her. The way it seemed to shine in a million colors like oil on water. The way it seemed to hide and shield them for all of the disapproving eyes that would glare at them from the side of their eyes.  

He hoped she was alright. He thought of her lips and how they had made his skin burn and bleed when she touched him. The way she would bite them to hold back her anger. The soft pale color of them. Like the insides of seashells. The paint on them seemed to shine twice as bright and more vividly red then anything he had seen. How she licked her lips often when she thought.

She had not told him where the outpost was. He thought of her face. How many men thought of their lovers face? The high cheek bones that seemed to shape and contour her face into something otherworldly to him. She had traced his face often, in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He had traced her face while she slept, her mind curled around his and keeping him safe from harm. Her face had been burned into his mind so well that all he could see when he shut his eyes, the light flashing behind his eyes took on her face shape. 

But she had said that her station was in a small city far to the south. He had to close his eyes as he wiped the blood away. Her face was there watching him. She had never left him. She had used a blood magic like no other, a magic called love to stay in him. She was a large part of him now and he was afraid to lose her. He had been afraid to lose her for a long time. 

As he cut down each enemy he could feel his bloodlust rise. She had always kept her temper. Even when she didn’t need to. She had been a Magister. She had been the elite of the elite. She didn’t have to keep her temper, to be kind, to do anything that she didn’t have to do. And yet she always strove to be a better person than she was. 

Every Qunari was a hard won battle, covering him head to toe in blood. The mages had their hearts ripped from their chest. He almost stopped. She was a mage. She was born with the same foul magic inside of her that had been inside of Danarius. She never used it like how he had. She never used it all that much, the more he thought about it. 

He cut through them like a hot knife on melting better. She had always been a good person, or a good as a person as she could be. She always said that she was a horrible person. He would never tell her otherwise because she wanted to be a horrible person, but she never could be. Her heart was too good. She was too good for him. But she chose him anyway. 

Each cut clouded his eyes. She had chosen him. A slave with no past. A slave with no future save the one that had been laid out before him. He had never been important as a person. He had always been property. But she had said that was wrong. 

Each death brought him a sick sense of pride. To her he and all the other slaves had been a people and that they deserved to have their freedom. She had come in and cut them free of their shackles. She had not wanted slaves. She hadn’t wanted anything. Not even him. But she got him and now he could never be free of her. 

Every ounce of blood soaking into the earth and washed away by the sea foam was a missed friend in a different life. He didn’t want to be free of her. He had wanted his freedom. Every slave did. But he had been happy to be chained to her. She was worthy of him. And he wanted to prove that he was worthy of her. 

The mage in front of him had their back to him, white robe stained with the blood of enemies. She had never worn white. She had often joked that it made her look too young. She hated being treated like a child. She didn’t want others to help her but accepted their help with little protest. She had loved to wear blue and red and even purple. She had given him white to wear and he had worn it, but he had agreed with her. It made him look too young, when he was old in soul and body. 

Their staff was glowing as they shot out fire and ice and lighting spells. She had never used spells like that. Unless she was teaching Bethany. Sweet Bethany. Stubborn Carver. Hawke. Hawke. 

They had on an iron helmet and a hood covered them as well. He missed her. By the Maker he missed her. His love. His heart. Amatus. She was his everything. 

He gave a low growl and sent his sword into their heart. The blade she had given him and sent him away with. A good and sturdy piece of metal. A gift given freely. She had given many things away without demanding anything in return. She always did have a bleeding heart. Ha, what an irony that was as he pushed until the hilt of the sword as at their breast bone, too late to slow down. 

They turned as he came close and he saw their face. Their face. Familiar cheekbones. The same skin. Sweet and soft. Covered in blood. And so afraid. 

Her face. 

“F-fenris?” she choked out. 

Her wide eyes. 

“Bernadette?” he whispered as the fighting fell away around them. 

Golden and afraid and dying. 

“Fenris? W-why?” she asked. She dropped her staff and gripped his sword. He looked at her, horror stricken, and she looked at him, stunned. She coughed and blood, red and bright and sticky, went across his face like acid. Her knees buckled and he held her as they fell to the ground. 

“Bernadette, I-I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t...I didn’t know it was you.” he said to her softly. She gripped his wrist tightly. He could hear himself asking her to hold on. She shivered and shook in his arms. She gave a low cough again and then she was still. 

He had lost her. She had been his everything. Maybe that was the problem. 


End file.
